




























Book. <H 31 4* 


Copyright N?. kl 

COPYRIGHT DEP&SJT. 















JUTHOR’S EDITION 


WORKS OF 

ANTHONY HOPE 

With Preface and Notes 
by the Author, and 
Photogravure Illustration 


B A L I O L 

Limited to One Thousand 
Sets, of which this is 

N u mb e r 










HALF A HERO and 
FATHER STAFFORD 

By ANTHONY HOPEtf 
ILLUSTRATED 





D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
NEW YORK 


A. 3 



TZ3 
. V\ 3 Hr 

H 

<1* 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two Copies Received 

OCT 3 !903 

..Copyright Entry 

fpfn 

CUSS CL W No. 

i b s' 


mbbbw 


COPY A. 


Copyright, 1902, by 

ANTHONY HOPE HAWKINS 


All rights reserved 



it 

4 

I t 

5 


IK 

o 

<« 


Half a Hero 
Copyright, 1893, by 
Harper & Brothers 


Father Stafford 
Copyright, 1895, by 
F. Tennyson Neely 


CONTENTS 


HALF A HERO 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Impossible — Inevitable ... 3 

II. A Popular Demonstration . . .12 

III. Hospitality ex Officio . . . .19 

IV. Weeding Out the Weak-Kneed . . 29 

V. A Talk at a Dance . . . .38 

VI. A Candidate for Office . . .46 

VII. A Common Spectacle . . . .54 

VIII. For the Highest Bidder . . .63 

IX. Two Hasty Utterances . . . .72 

X. The Smoke of Hidden Fires . . .80 

XI. A Conscientious Man’s Conscience . . 88 

XII. An Absurd Ambition . . . .97 

XIII. Out of Harm’s Way .... 107 

XIV. A Fatal Secession . . . . .117 

XV. An Attempt at Terrorism . . .127 

XVI. A Leaky Vessel . . . . .135 

XVII. The Truth About the Man . . .143 

XVIII. By an Oversight of Society’s . .152 

XIX. Last Chances 160 

XX. The Law versus Rule 3 . . .171 


v 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXI. All There Was to Tell 
XXII. The Story of a Photograph 
XXIII. An Orator’s Rival . 

XXIV. Three Against the World 

XXV. The Truth Too Late . 

XXVI. The Unclean Thing 
XXVII. The Decision of the Oracle 

XXVIII. Stealing a March 
XXIX. A Beaten Man’s Thoughts 
XXX. The End of a Tumult 


. 179 
. 187 
. 197 
. 204 
. 211 
. 221 


. 251 
. 259 


vi 


CONTENTS 


FATHER STAFFORD 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Eugene Lane and His Guests . . . 1 

II. New Faces and Old Feuds . . .13 

III. Father Stafford Changes His Habits, and 

Mr. Haddington His Views . . . 25 

IV. Sir Roderick Ayre Inspects Mr. More- 

wood’s Masterpiece . . . . .38 

V. How Three Gentlemen Acted for the 

Best ....... 50 

VI. Father Stafford Keeps Vigil . . .63 

VII. An Early Train and a Morning’s Amuse- 
ment ....... 74 

VIII. Stafford in Retreat, and Sir Roderick in 

Action ....... 85 

IX. The Battle of Baden . . . .103 

X. Mr. Morewood is Moved to Indignation . 115 

XI. Waiting Lady Claudia’s Pleasure . .129 

XII. Lady Claudia is Vexed with Mankind . 140 

XIII. A Lover’s Fate and a Friend’s Counsel . 154 

XIV. Some People are as Fortunate as they 

Deserve to be . . . . .169 

XV. An End and a Beginning , 179 



HALF A HERO 















HALF A HERO 


CHAPTER I 

THE IMPOSSIBLE — INEVITABLE 

In the garden the question was settled without 
serious difference of opinion. If Sir Robert Perry 
really could not go on — and Lady Eynesford was 
by no means prepared to concede even that — then 
Mr. Puttock, bourgeois as he was, or Mr. Coxon, 
conceited and priggish though he might be, must 
come in. At any rate, the one indisputable fact 
was the impossibility of Mr. Medland : this was, 
to Lady Eynesford’s mind, axiomatic, and, in the 
safe privacy of her family circle (for Miss Scaife 
counted as one of the family, and Captain Hes- 
eltine and Mr. Flemy ng did not count at all), 
she went so far as to declare that, let the Gover- 
nor do as he would (in the inconceivable case of 
his being so foolish as to do anything of the kind), 
she at least would not receive Mr. Medland. Hav- 
ing launched this hypothetical thunderbolt, she 
asked Alicia Derosne to give her another cup of 
tea. Alicia poured out the tea, handed it to her 
sister-in-law, and asked, 

“ But, Mary, what is there so dreadful about 
Mr. Medland ? ” 

“ Everything,” said Lady Eynesford. 

“ Still,” suggested Miss Scaife, “ if the creatures 
are bent on having him ” 


3 


HALF A HERO 


“ My dear Eleanor, what is a Governor for? ” 
demanded Lady Eynesford. 

“ To do as he’s told and subscribe to the Cup,” 
interposed Dick Derosne. And he added, “ They 
are having a palaver. Old Perry’s been in an hour 
and a half.” 

Captain Heseltine and Mr. Flemyng looked at 
their watches and nodded gravely. 

“Poor Willie!” murmured Lady Eynesford. 
“ He’ll miss his ride.” 

Poor Willie — that is to say, His Excellency 
William Derosne, Baron Eynesford, Governor 
of New Lindsey — deserved all the sympathy his 
wife’s exclamation implied, and even more. For, 
after a vast amount of fencing and an elaborate 
disquisition on the state of parties in the colony, 
Sir Robert Perry decisively refused the dissolution 
the Governor offered, and ended by saying, with 
eyebrows raised and the slightest shrug of his 
shoulders, 

“ In fact, sir, it’s my duty to advise you to send 
for Mr. Medland.” 

The Governor pushed his chair back from the 
table. 

“ You won’t try again ? ” he asked. 

“ Impossible, until he has failed.” 

“ You think Puttock out of the question? ” 

“ Quite. He has not following enough : people 
wouldn’t stand Medland being passed over. Really, I 
don’t think you’ll find Medland hard to get on with. 
He’s a very able man. For myself, I like him.” 

The Governor sat silent for a few minutes. Sir 
Robert, conceiving that his interview was at an end, 
rose to take leave. Lord Eynesford expressed 
much regret at being obliged to lose his services : 

4 


THE IMPOSSIBLE— INEVITABLE 

Sir Robert replied suitably, and was at the door 
before the Governor reverted to Mr. Medland. 

“ There are queer stories about him, aren’t 
there ? ” he asked. “ I mean about his private 
life.” 

“ Well, there is some vague gossip of the kind.” 

“ There now ! That’s very awkward. He must 
come here, you know, and what shall I say to my 
wife ? ” 

“ She’s been dead three or four years now,” said 
Sir Robert, not referring to the Governor’s wife. 
“ And it’s only rumour after all. Nothing has ever 
come to light on the subject.” 

“ But there’s a girl.” 

“There’s nothing against the girl — except of 
course ” 

“Oh, just so,” said the Governor; “but that 
makes it awkward. Besides, somebody told me he 
used to get drunk.” 

“I think you may disregard that,” said Sir 
Robert. “ It only means that he likes his glass of 
wine as most of us do.” 

Sir Robert retired, and presently Dick Derosne, 
who acted as his brother’s private secretary, came 
in. The Governor was in an easy-chair, smoking a 
cigar. 

“ So you’ve settled it,” said Dick. 

“ Yes. Perry won’t hear of going on.” 

“Well, he hardly could after being beaten by 
seventeen on his biggest bill. What’s going to 
happen ? ” 

Now the Governor thought fit to assume that 
the course he had, after so much hesitation, deter- 
mined upon was, to every sensible man, the only 
possible course. Perhaps he fancied that he would 
5 


HALF A HERO 


thus be in a stronger position for justifying it to a 
sensible woman. 

“ Of course,” he said, in a tone expressive of 
some surprise at a question so unnecessary, “ I am 
sending for Medland.” 

Dick Derosne whistled. The Governor relapsed 
into sincerity. 

“No help for it,” he pleaded. “ You must back 
me up, old man, with Mary. Women can’t under- 
stand constitutional obligations.” 

“ She said she wouldn’t have him to the house,” 
remarked Dick. 

“ Oh, Eleanor Scaife must persuade her. I wish 
you’d go and tell them, Dick. I’m expecting 
Medland in half-an-hour. I wish I was out of it. 
I distrust these fellows, both them and their policy.” 

“ And yet you’ll have to be civil to them.” 

“ Civil ! I must be just as cordial as I was with 
Perry. That’s why it’s so important that Mary 
should be ” 

“ Reasonable? ” suggested Dick. 

“ Well, yes,” said Lord Eynesford. 

“ How does Perry take it? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t think he minds much. He thinks 
Medland’s gang will soon fall to pieces and he’ll 
come back. Besides, the K.C.M.G. softens the 
blow.” 

“ Ah ! It’s the cheap defence of nations now — 
vice chivalry, out of fashion,” laughed Dick. 

Hitherto Lord Eynesford and his wife had en~ 
joyed their reign. Everything had gone well. 
The Governor agreed heartily with the measures 
introduced by Sir Robert Perry’s Ministry, and his 
relations with the members of the Government, and 
especially with its chief, had been based on re- 
6 


THE IMPOSSIBLE— INEVITABLE 


ciprocal liking and respect : they were most of 
them gentlemen and all of them respectable men, 
and, what was hardly less important, their wives 
and families had afforded no excuse for the exercise 
of Lady Eynesford’s somewhat fastidious nicety as 
to manners, or her distinctly rigid scrutiny into 
morals. Under such conditions, the duty and the 
inclinations of Government House went hand-in- 
hand. Suddenly, in the midst of an apparently 
peaceful session, came what the Governor consid- 
ered an unhallowed combination between a dis- 
contented section of Perry’s party, and the Oppo- 
sition under Medland’s leadership. The result was 
the defeat of the Government, the resignation of 
Sir Robert, and the inevitability of Mr. Medland. 

Entering the Legislative Assembly as the repre- 
sentative of an outlying constituency, Medland 
had speedily made himself the spokesman of the 
growing Labour Party, and now, after fifteen years 
of public life, and a secret and subterranean struggle 
with the old middle-class element, was established 
as the leader of a united party, so powerful in 
numbers that the accession of some dozen deserters 
had placed it in a majority. Mr. Coxon had led 
the revolt against Sir Robert Perry, and the 
Governor disliked Coxon even more thoroughly 
than he distrusted Medland. Miss Scaife said that 
Medland was the more dangerous, inasmuch as he 
was sincere and impetuous, while Coxon was neither; 
but then, the Governor would reply, Coxon was a 
snob, and Medland, if not exactly a gentleman 
according to the ideas of Eton and Christchurch — 
and Lord Eynesford adhered to these ideas — 
scorned a bad imitation where he could not attain 
the reality, and by his simplicity and freedom from 
7 


HALF A HERO 


pretension extorted the admission of good breeding. 
But why compare the men ? He would have to 
accept both, for Medland must offer Coxon a 
place, and beyond doubt the offer would be ac- 
cepted. The Governor was alarmed for the fate 
of New Lindsey under such ruling, and awaited 
with apprehension his next interview with his wife. 

Dick Derosne had fulfilled his mission, and his 
tidings had spread dismay on the lawn. Lady 
Eynesford reiterated her edict of exclusion against 
the new Premier ; Eleanor Scaife smiled and told 
her she would be forced to receive him. Alicia in 
vain sought particulars of Mr. Medland’s misdeeds, 
and the aides-de-camp speculated curiously on the 
composition of the Cabinet, Captain Heseltine 
betting Mr. Flemyng five to two that it would 
include Mr. Giles, the leading tailor of Kirton, to 
whose services the Captain had once been driven 
to resort with immense trepidation and disastrous 
results. As a fact, the Captain lost his bet ; the 
Cabinet did not include Mr. Giles, because that 
gentleman, albeit an able speaker, and a man of 
much greater intellect than most of his customers, 
was suspected of paying low wages to his employes, 
though, according to the Captain, it was impossible 
that he should pay them as little as their skill 
deserved. 

“ I don’t think I ever saw Mr. Medland,” said 
Alicia, who had come out from England only a 
few months before. 

“I have seen him,” said Eleanor Scaife. “In 
fact, I had a little talk with him at the Jubilee 
Banquet.” 

“Was he sober?” Lady Eynesford, in her bit- 
terness of spirit, allowed herself to ask, 

8 


THE IMPOSSIBLE— INEVITABLE 


“ Mary ! Of course he was. He was also 
rather interesting. He was then in mourning for 
Mrs. Medland, and he told me he only came be- 
cause his absence would have been put down to 
disloyalty.” 

The mention of Mrs. Medland increased the 
downward curve of Lady Eynesford’s mouth, and 
she was about to speak, when Dick Derosne ex- 
claimed, 

“Well, you can see him now, Al. He’s walk- 
ing up the drive.” 

The party and their tea-table were screened by 
trees, and they were able, themselves unseen, to 
watch Mr. Medland, as, in obedience to the Gover- 
nor’s summons, he walked slowly up to Govern- 
ment House. A girl of about seventeen or eigh- 
teen accompanied him to the gate, and left him 
there with a merry wave of her hand, and he strode 
on alone, his hands in his trousers pockets and a 
soft felt hat on the back of his head. 

James — or, as his followers called him, “Jimmy” 
— Medland was forty-one years of age, once an 
engineer, now a politician, by profession, a tall, 
loose-limbed, slouching man, with stiff black hair 
and a shaven face. His features were large and 
had been clear-cut, but by now they had grown 
coarser, and his deep-set eyes, under heavy lids and 
bushy eyebrows, alone survived unimpaired by 
time and life. Deep lines ran either side from 
nose to mouth, and the like across his forehead. 
He had cut himself while shaving that morning, 
and a large patch of black plaster showed in the 
centre of his long, prominent chin : as he walked, 
he now and then lifted a hand to pluck nervously 
at it ; save in this unconscious gesture, he betrayed 
9 


HALF A HERO 


no sign of excitement or preoccupation, for, as he 
walked, he looked about him and once, for a 
minute, he whistled. 

“ Awful ! ” said Lady Eynesford in a whisper. 

“ He wants a new coat,” said Captain Heseltine. 

‘‘He looks rather interesting, I think,” said 
Alicia. 

At this moment a rare and beautiful butterfly 
fluttered close over Mr. Medland’s head. He 
paused and watched it for a moment. Then he 
looked carefully round him: no one was in sight: 
the butterfly settled for a moment on a flower-bed. 
Mr. Medland looked round again. Then he cau- 
tiously lifted his soft hat from his head, wistfully 
eyed the butterfly, looked round again, suddenly 
pounced down on his knees, and pressed the hat to 
the ground. He was very close to the hidden tea- 
party now, so close that Alicia’s suppressed scream 
of laughter almost betrayed its presence. Mr. 
Medland put his head down and, raising one 
corner of the hat, peered under it. Alicia laughed 
outright, for the butterfly was fluttering in the air 
above him. Medland did not hear her; he looked 
up, saw the butterfly, rose to his feet, put on his 
hat, and exclaimed, in a voice audible by all the 
listeners 

“ Missed it, by heaven ! ” 

“ You see the sort of man he is,” observed Lady 
Eynesford. 

“An entomologist, I suppose,” suggested Miss 
Scaife. 

“ He chases butterflies in the Governor’s garden, 
and swears when he doesn’t catch them ! ” 

“ He fears not God, neither regards the Governor,” 
remarked Dick, with a solemn shake of his head. 

10 


THE IMPOSSIBLE— INEVITABLE 


“ Don’t be flippant, Dick,” said Lady Eynesford 
sharply. 

“ He might at least brush the knees of his trou- 
sers,” moaned Captain Heseltine. 

Meanwhile Mr. Medland walked up to the door 
and rang the bell. He was received by Jackson, 
the butler; and Jackson was flanked by two foot- 
men. Jackson politely concealed his surprise at 
not seeing a carriage and pair, and stated that his 
Excellency would receive Mr. Medland at once. 

“ I hope I haven’t kept him waiting,” answered 
Medland. “ The pony’s lame, and I had to walk.” 

The footmen, who were young, raw, and Eng- 
lish, almost smiled. A Premier dependent on one 
pony! Jackson redoubled his obsequious atten- 
tion. 

The Governor used to say that he wished his 
wife had imbibed the constitutional spirit as readily 
as Jackson. 


2 


11 


CHAPTER II 


A POPULAR DEMONSTRATION 

Miss Eleanor Scaife was gouvernante des enfants 
de N ew Lindsey ; but she found the duty of look- 
ing after two small children, shared as it was with 
a couple of nurses, not enough to occupy her ener- 
gies. So she organised the hospitality of Govern- 
ment House, and interested herself in the political 
problems of a young community. In the course of 
the latter pursuit, a study of Mr. Medland appeared 
appropriate and needful, and Miss Scaife was minded 
to engage in it, in spite of the hostility of Lady 
Eynesford. She had studied Sir Robert Perry for 
three years, but Sir Robert was disappointing. 
That he was a charming old gentleman she freely 
admitted, but he was not in any special way char- 
acteristic of a young community. He was just like 
half-a- hundred members of Parliament whom she 
had known while she lived with the Eynesfords at 
home : in fact he was irredeemably European. Ac- 
cordingly she was glad to see him, but she mentally 
transferred him to the recreative department, and 
talked to him about scenery, pictures, and light 
literature. Lady Eynesford admired Sir Robert 
because there was no smack of the young commu- 
nity about him; Miss Scaife conceded that point 
of view, but maintained that there was another : 
and from that other she ranked Mr. Medland above 
a thousand Sir Roberts. All this she explained to 
12 


A POPULAR DEMONSTRATION 


Alicia Derosne, after Lady Eynesford had retired 
in dudgeon, and while the Governor was closeted 
with the new Premier. 

“ But,” objected Alicia, 44 Captain Heseltine 
says ” 

44 Unless,” interrupted Eleanor, 44 it’s something 
about a coat, I don’t care what Captain Heseltine 
says. He’s an authority on that subject, but on 
no other under the sun.” 

Alicia abandoned Captain Heseltine’s authority 
and fell back on her sister-in-law’s ; Eleanor, in 
spite of the unusual relations of intimate friend- 
ship, dating from old school-days, between her em- 
ployer and herself, could not treat Lady Eynes- 
ford’s opinion with open disrespect. She drew 
certain distinctions, which resulted in demonstrat- 
ing that a close acquaintance between Mr. Medland 
and Alicia was inadvisable, but that as regards her- 
self the case was different. 

44 In short,” said Alicia, summarising the distinc- 
tions, “you are thirty and I am twenty-two. 
But I don’t want to know the man, only I liked 
him for hunting that butterfly. I wonder what 
Miss Medland is like. Captain Heseltine says she’s 
very pretty.” 

44 1 don’t know.” 

“Is she out? Oh, but does one come out in 
New Lindsey ? ” 

44 It will be much more convenient if she isn’t 
out,” said Miss Scaife, rising and beginning to walk 
toward the house. 

Alicia accompanied her. Before they had gone 
far, Mr. Medland and Dick Derosne appeared in 
the drive. The interview was ended, and Dick was 
escorting Mr. Medland. 


13 


HALF A HERO 

“ I’m afraid we can’t avoid them,” said Miss 
Scaife. 

“ I’m afraid not,” said Alicia. “ 1 wonder what 
they’re talking about.” 

Mr. Medland’s voice, though not loud in ordinary 
speech, was distinct and penetrating. In a moment 
Alicia’s wonder was satisfied. 

“ Only be sure you get the right gin,” he 
said. 

“ Good gracious ! ” said Alicia. “ Is that charac- 
teristic of a young community, Eleanor ? ” 

Miss Scaife made no reply. The two parties 
met, and Mr. Medland was presented. At this 
instant, Alicia, glancing at the house, thought she 
saw a disapproving face at Lady Eynesford’s win- 
dow ; but it seemed hardly likely that the Gov- 
ernor’s wife would be watching the Premier out of 
the window. Alicia wondered whether they had 
met in the house ; Miss Scaife felt no doubt that 
they had not. She knew that Lady Eynesford’s 
surrender would be a matter of time. 

“Well,” she said, “are we to congratulate you, 
Mr. Medland?” 

“ I believe my tongue is supposed to be sealed 
for the time,” he answered, smiling. 

“Mine isn’t,” laughed Dick, “and I think you 
may offer him your felicitations.” 

“You think it, yourself, a subject for congrat- 
ulation ? ” asked Eleanor, getting to work at 
once. 

“ Oh, Eleanor ! ” protested Alicia. “ Poor Mr. 
Medland ! ” 

Medland glanced from one to the other, smiling 
again. 

“ Whatever may be the sacrifice of personal in- 
14 


A POPULAR DEMONSTRATION 


clination involved,” he began solemnly, “when the 
Governor calls on me I have no ” 

“You’re making fun of us,” said Alicia, seeing 
the twinkle in his eye. 

“ I am quoting Mr. — Sir Robert Perry’s speech 
when he last came in.” 

“ Sir Robert is a great friend of mine,” declared 
Alicia. 

“ Seriously,” said Medland, turning to Eleanor, 
“ I am very pleased.” 

“ Why ? ” she asked. “ The responsibility must 
be frightful.” 

Alicia and Dick laughed irreverently. 

“Eleanor’s always talking about responsibility,” 
said the former. “ I hate the idea of it, don’t you, 
Mr. Medland?” 

“ Call it power and try then,” he answered. 

“ Power? Oh, but I have none! ” 

“ No? ” he asked, with a look that made Alicia 
think he might have been “ nice ” when he was a 
young man. 

“ Oh, of course, if it’s mere ambition — ” began 
Eleanor impatiently. 

“ Not altogether,” he interposed. 

“ Then what else? ” 

“ Listen ! ” he said, holding up his hand. 

They were now within twenty or thirty yards of 
the road, and, listening, they heard the murmur of 
many voices. Government House stood on the 
shore of the bay, about half a mile outside the 
town, and a broad road ran by the gates which, on 
reaching Kirton, was merged in one of the main 
thoroughfares, Victoria Street. 

Another turn brought the party in the garden in 
sight of the road. It was thronged with people 
15 


HALF A HERO 


for a considerable distance, people in a thick mass, 
surging up against the gate and hardly held back 
by a cordon of police. 

“ Whatever can be the matter ? ” exclaimed 
Eleanor. 

“ I am the matter,” said Medland. “ They have 
heard about it.” 

When the crowd saw him, cheer after cheer rang 
out, caps and handkerchiefs were waved, and even 
flags made a sudden appearance. Moving a pace 
in advance of his companions, he lifted his hat, and 
the enthusiastic cries burst forth with renewed 
vigour. He signed to them to be still, but they 
did not heed him. Alicia caught hold of Eleanor’s 
hand, her breath coming and going in sudden gasps. 
Eleanor looked at Medland. He was moistening 
his lips, and she saw a little quiver run through 
his limbs. 

“ By Jove ! ” said Dick Derosne. 

Medland turned to Eleanor, and pointed to the 
crowd. 

“ Yes, I see,” she said. 

He held out his hand to bid them farewell, and 
walked on toward the gate. They stood and 
watched his progress. Suddenly a different cry 
rose. 

“ Let her pass ! Let her pass ! Let her through 
to him ! ” 

The crowd slowly parted, and down the middle 
of the road, amid the raising of hats and pretty 
rough compliments, a young girl came walking 
swiftly and proudly, with a smile on her lips. 

“ It’s his daughter,” whispered Alicia. “ Oh ! ” 

Medland opened the gate and went out. The 
girl, her fair hair blowing out behind her and her 
16 


A POPULAR DEMONSTRATION 


cheeks glowing red, ran to meet him, and, as he 
stooped and kissed her, the crowd, having, as a 
crowd, but one way to tell its feelings, roared and 
cheered again. Medland, with one hand on his 
daughter’s shoulder and the other holding his hat, 
walked down the lane between human walls, and 
was lost to sight as the walls found motion and 
closed in behind him. 

After some moments’ silence Dick Derosne re- 
covered himself, and remarked with a cynical air, 

“Neat bit of acting — kissing the girl and all 
that.” 

But Alicia would not have it. With a tremu- 
lous laugh, she said, 

“ I should like to have kissed him too. Oh, 
Eleanor, I didn’t know it was like that ! ” 

Perhaps Eleanor did not either, but she would 
not admit it. What was it but a lot of ignorant 
people cheering they knew not what? If any- 
thing, it was degrading. Yet, in spite of these 
most reasonable reflections, she knew that her 
cheeks had flushed and her heart beat at the sight 
and the sound. 

They were still standing and watching the crowd 
as it retreated toward Kirton, when the Governor, 
who had come out to get some fresh air after his 
arduous labour, joined them. 

“Extraordinary the popularity of the man in 
Kirton,” he observed, in answer to Alicia’s eager 
description of Mr. Medland’s triumph. 

“ What has he done for them? ” asked Eleanor. 

“ Done ? Oh, I don’t know. He’s done some- 
thing, I suppose; but it’s what he’s going to do 
that they’re so keen about.” 

“ Is he a Socialist? ” inquired Alicia. 

17 


HALF A HERO 


“ I can’t tell you,” replied Lord Eynesford. “ I 
don’t know what he is — and I’m not sure I know 
what a Socialist is. Ask Eleanor.” 

“A Socialist,” began Eleanor, in an authorita- 
tive tone, “ is ” 

But this much- desired definition was unhappily 
lost, for a footman came up and told Lord Eynes- 
ford that his wife would like to see him if he were 
disengaged. 

The Governor smiled grimly, winked impercep- 
tibly, and departed. 

“ It’s been quite an entertaining day,” said Miss 
Scaife. “ But I’m very sorry for Sir Robert.” 

“ What was Mr. Medland talking to you about, 
Dick ? ” asked Alicia. 

“ Oh, a new sort of drink. You take a long 
glass, and some pounded ice and some gin — only 
you must be careful to get ” 

“ I don’t want to hear about it.” 

“Well, you asked, you know,” retorted Dick, 
with the air of a man who suffers under the per- 
petual illogicality of woman. 


18 


CHAPTER III 


HOSPITALITY EX OFFICIO 

“ I confess to being very much alarmed,” said 
Mr. Kilshaw, “ and I think Capital generally shares 
the feeling.” 

“ If I thought he could last, I should share it 
myself,” said Sir Robert Perry. 

“ He may easily last long enough to half ruin 
my business. Large concerns are delicate concerns.” 

“ Come, Kilshaw, Puttock’s a capitalist ; he’ll see 
Capital isn’t wronged.” 

“Puttock is all very well in his way; but what 
do you say to Jewell and Norburn ? ” 

“ Jewell’s an old-style Radical : he won’t do you 
much harm. You hit the nail on the head when 
you mention Norburn. Norburn would be very 
pleased to run your factory as a State work-shop 
for two pound a week.” 

“ And pickings,” added Mr. Kilshaw, with scorn- 
ful emphasis. 

A third gentleman, who was sitting near in the 
large bow- window of the Central Club, an elderly 
man, with short-clipped white hair and a pleasant 
face, joined in the talk. 

“ Norburn ? Why, is that the fellow I tried ? 
Is he in Medland’s Government ? ” 

“ That’s the man, Sir John,” answered Kilshaw; 
and Sir Robert added, 

“ You gave him three months for inciting to riot 
in the strike at the Collieries two years ago. He’s 
made Minister of Public W orks ; I hear the Gov- 
19 


HALF A HERO 

ernor held out for a long while, but Medland in- 
sisted.” 

“And my works are to be Public Works, I 
suppose,” grumbled Kilshaw, finding some comfort 
in this epigrammatic statement of the unwelcome 
prospect before him. 

“ Red-hot, isn’t he ? ” asked Sir John Oakapple, 
who, as Chief Justice of the colony, had sent the 
new Minister to gaol. 

Kilshaw nodded. 

“ Will he and Puttock pull together ? ” continued 
the Chief Justice. 

“ The hopeful part of the situation is,” said Sir 
Robert, “ that Puttock is almost bound to fall out 
with somebody, either with Norburn, for the rea- 
son you name, or with Coxon, because Coxon 
will try to rule the roast, or with Medland himself.” 

“ Why should he quarrel with Medland ? ” 

“ Why does the heir quarrel with the king ? 
Besides, there’s the Prohibition Question. I doubt 
if Medland will satisfy Puttock and his people over 
that.” 

“Oh, I expect he will,” said the Chief Justice. 
“I asked him once — this is in confidence, you 
know — if he didn’t think it a monstrous proposal, 
and he only shrugged those slouched shoulders of 
his, and said, 4 We’ve got Sunday Closing, and we 
go in the back way : if we have Prohibition the 
drink’ll go in the back way — same principle, my 
dear Chief Justice’”: and that High Officer 
finished his anecdote with a laugh. 

“The odd thing about Medland is,” remarked 
Sir Robert, “that he’s utterly indifferent about 
everything except what he’s utterly mad about. 
He has no moderate sympathies or antipathies.” 

20 


HOSPITALITY EX OFFICIO 


“ Therefore he’s a most dangerous man,” said Kil- 
shaw. 

“ Oh, I think he sympathises, in moderation, with 
morality,” laughed Sir John. 

“Ay,” rejoined Perry quickly, “and that’s all. 
What if Puttock raised the Righteous on him ? ” 

“ Oh, then I should stand by Medland,” said the 
Chief Justice decisively. “And young Coxon’s to 
be Attorney- General. He’s safe enough.” 

“ A man who thinks only about himself is gen- 
erally safe,” remarked Sir Robert dryly; and he 
added, with a smile, “ That’s why lawyers are such 
a valuable class.” 

The Chief Justice laughed, and took his revenge 
by asking, 

“ How many windows did they break, Perry ? ” 

“ Only three,” rejoined the Ex-Premier. “Con- 
sidering the popular enthusiasm I got off cheap.” 

“You can’t stir a people’s heart for nothing. 
All the same, the reception they gave him was a 
fine sight.” 

“ Extraordinary, wasn’t it? ” 

“ I call it most ominous,” said Mr. Kilshaw, and 
he rose and went out gloomily. 

“ I haven’t had my invitation to meet them at 
Government House yet,” said the Chief Justice. 

He referred to the banquet which the Governor 
was accustomed to give to a new Ministry, when 
the leading officials of the colony were always in- 
cluded in the party. 

Sir Robert looked round for possible eaves- 
droppers. 

“ There’s a hitch,” he said in a low voice. “Lady 
Eynesford makes difficulties about having Med- 
land.” 


21 


HALF A HERO 


“ Oh, that’s nonsense ! ” 

“ Utter nonsense ; but it seems she does. How- 
ever, I suppose you’ll get your card in a day or 
two.” 

“ And renew my acquaintance with Mr. Norburn 
under happier circumstances.” 

“ Norburn will feel as one used to when one 
breakfasted with the school- master — as a peace- 
making after another sort of interview.” 

Sir Robert Perry proved right in supposing that 
Lady Eynesford’s resistance could not last for ever. 
It was long enough and fierce enough to make the 
Governor very unhappy and the rest of the family 
very uncomfortable, but it was foredoomed to fail- 
ure. Even the Bishop of Kirton, whom she con- 
sulted, told her that high place had its peculiar 
duties, and that however deplorable the elevation 
of such a man might be, if the Queen’s representa- 
tive invited him to join his counsels, the Queen’s 
representative’s wife must invite him to join her 
dinner-party: and the Bishop proved the sincerity 
of his constitutional doctrine by accepting an invi- 
tation to meet the new Ministry. Lady Eynes- 
ford, abandoned by Church and State alike, sur- 
rendered, thanking heaven that Daisy Medland’s 
youth postponed another distasteful necessity. 

“ You’ll have to face it in a few months’ time,” 
said Eleanor Scaife, who was not always as com- 
forting a companion as a lady in her position is sup- 
posed to be. 

“ Oh, they’ll be out in a month,” answered Lady 
Eynesford confidently. “ The Bishop says they 
can’t last. Do you know, Eleanor, Mr. Coxon is 
the only Churchman among them ? ” 

“ Shocking ! ” said Eleanor, with no more sus- 
22 


HOSPITALITY EX OFFICIO 


picion of irony than her reputation as an esprit fort 
demanded. It really startled her a little : the so- 
cial significance seemed considerable. 

Mr. Medland’s invitation to dinner caused him 
perhaps more perturbation than had his invitation 
to power. A natural sensitiveness of mind supplied 
in him the place of an experience of refined society 
or an impulse of inherited pride. He cared noth- 
ing that his advent to office alarmed and displeased 
many ; but it gave him pain to be compelled to 
dine at the table of a lady who, by notorious report, 
did not desire his company. 

“ I don’t want to go, and she doesn’t want to 
have me,” he protested to his daughter ; “ yet she 
must have me and I must go. The great god 
Sham again, Daisy.” 

“ You’ll meet him everywhere now,” said Daisy, 
with a melancholy shake of her young head. 

“ And rout him somewhere? ” 

“ Oh yes, everywhere — except at Government 
House.” 

“ I hate going.” 

“ I believe mother would have liked it. Don’t 
you think so, dear ? ” 

“ Perhaps. Should you ? ” 

“ I should be terribly afraid of Lady Eynesford.” 

“ Just my feeling,” said Medland, stroking his 
chin. 

When he entered the drawing-room at Govern- 
ment House, and was presented to his hostess by 
the Governor, on whose brow rested a little pucker 
of anxiety, Lady Eynesford was talking to the 
Bishop and to Mr. Puttock. Puttock had accepted 
the office of Minister of Trade and Customs, but 
not without grumbling, for he had aspired to con- 
23 


HALF A HERO 


trol the finances of the colony as Treasurer, and 
considered that Medland underrated his influence 
as a political leader. He was a short man, rather 
stout, with large whiskers ; he wore a blue ribbon 
in the button-hole of his dress-coat. Lady Eynes- 
ford considered him remarkably like a grocer, and 
the very quintessence of nonconformity ; but he at 
least was indisputably respectable, a devoted hus- 
band, and the father of a large family, behind 
whose ranks he was in the habit of walking to 
chapel twice every Sunday. Sometimes he preached 
when he got there. Just to his right, talking briskly 
to Alicia Derosne, stood Mr. Coxon, the Attorney- 
General, very smart in English-made clothes, and 
discussing the doings of people at home whom he 
had known or seen in the days when he was at 
Cambridge, and had the run of a rich uncle’s house 
in Park Lane. In the distance the Roman Catho- 
lic Archbishop was talking to Eleanor Scaife, and 
suffering Sir John Oakapple’s jests with a polite 
faint smile. This mixture of the sects ranked high 
among the trials of Lady Eynesford’s position, and 
contained precious opportunities for Miss Scaife’s 
inquiring mind. 

It seems true beyond question that moral esti- 
mation counts for more in the likings of women than 
in those of men. Medland, in spite of the utter 
insignificance, as he conceived, of the lady’s judg- 
ment considered as an intellectual process, was too 
much of a politician, and perhaps a little too much 
of a man also, not to wish to conciliate the Gov- 
ernor’s wife ; but his courteous deference, his clever 
talk, and his search for points of sympathy broke 
ineffectually on the barriers of Lady Eynesford’s 
official politeness and personal reserve. She was 
24 


HOSPITALITY EX OFFICIO 


cruel in her clear indication of the footing upon 
which they met, and the Governor’s uneasy glance 
of appeal would produce nothing better than a cold 
interest in the scenery of the Premier’s constitu- 
ency. Medland was glad when Lady Eynesford 
turned to the Chief Justice and released him; his 
relief was so great that it was hardly marred by 
finding Mrs. Puttock on his other side. Yet Mrs. 
Puttock and he were not congenial spirits. 

“We are sending a deputation to you,” said Mrs. 
Puttock, directly Medland ’s change of position 
gave her an opportunity. 

He emptied his glass of champagne, and asked, 

“ Which of your many 4 We’s,’ Mrs. Puttock ? ” 

“ Why, the W.T.A.A.” 

“I won’t affect ignorance — Women’s — Total — 
Abstinence — Association. ” 

“ The enthusiasm this afternoon was enormous. 
Of course Mr. Puttock could not be there ; but I 
told them I felt sure that with the new Ministry 
an era of real hope had dawned,” and Mrs. Puttock 
looked inquiringly at the Premier, who was in his 
turn looking at the foaming wine that fell into his 
glass from Jackson’s practised hand. 

“ A new era ? ” he answered. “ Oh, well, you 
didn’t get much out of Perry. What do you want 
of me ? ” 

“We want to strengthen your hands in dealing 
drastically with the problem. Of course, it will be 
one of your first measures.” 

“We have at least six first measures already on 
the list,” remarked the Premier, smiling. 

“ I saw your daughter to-day,” Mrs. Puttock 
continued. “ I went to ask her to join us.” 

“ Isn’t she rather young to join things ? ” pleaded 
25 


HALF A HERO 


Mr. Medland. “ Poor child ! She would hardly 
understand what she's giving — I mean, what she’s 
going in for. What did she say? ” 

“ Well, really, Mr. Medland, I think you might 
speak a word to her. She told me she loved cham- 
pagne and tipsy-cake. The tipsy-cake doesn’t mat- 
ter, because it can be made without alcohol. — I beg 
your pardon? ” 

“ I didn’t speak,” said the Premier. 

“ But champagne ! At her age ! ” 

“ She’s only tasted it half-a-dozen times.” 

“ Well, I hope every one will have to give it up 
soon. My husband says that the Cabinet ” 

“ Here’s treason ! Has he been telling you our 
secrets ? ” 

“ Secrets ! Why, two-thirds of the party are 
pledged ” 

But here Lady Eynesford again claimed the 
Premier’s attention, and he was really glad of it. 

Dick Derosne walked home with Mr. Medland. 
He had intended to go only to the gate, but Med- 
land pressed him to go further, and, engrossed in 
conversation, they reached Medland’s house with- 
out separating. 

“ Come in and see Daisy,” said Medland. “ She’s 
been alone all the evening, poor girl, and will be 
glad of better company than mine.” 

“ Oh, come, I expect she likes your society bet- 
ter than any one else’s.” 

“ Well, that won’t last long, will it? ” 

They went in and found Daisy supping on the 
wing of a chicken, and some wine-and- water. Med- 
land led the way, and, as soon as his daughter saw/^ 
him, she exclaimed, 

“ Was it very awful, father ? ” 

26 


HOSPITALITY EX OFFICIO 


“ Well, was it, Mr. Derosne?” he asked of Dick. 
“Daisy, this is the Governors brother, Mr. De- 
rosne.” 

“ It was awful ! ” said Dick, executing his bow. 
“ Those great feeds always are.” 

“ Why, Daisy,” exclaimed Mr. Medland, “ you’re 
drinking wine. How about Mrs. Puttock ? ” 

“ Oh, she told you ? She said it was very wicked.” 

“ And you ? ” 

“ Oh, I said it wasn’t, because you did it.” 

“ Luckily, a conclusion may be right, though the 
reason for it is utterly wrong,” said the Premier. 

“ I,” said Dick, “ always admit things are wicked, 
you know, and say I do ’em all the same. It saves 
a lot of argument.” 

The door opened and Mr. Norburn walked in. 

“ Is it too late for me to come ? ” he asked. 

“ Of course not,” said Daisy, greeting him with 
evident pleasure, and ensconcing him in an arm- 
chair. “We expect you to come at all the odd 
times. That’s the part of an intimate friend, isn’t 
it, Mr. Derosne ? ” 

Medland was speaking to Norburn, and Dick 
took the opportunity of remarking, 

“ Mayn’t I come at an odd time now and then ? ” 

“ Oh, do. We shall be so pleased.” 

“ Mr. Norburn doesn’t come at all of them, does 
he?” 

“ At most. Do you mind that ? ” 

“ Of course I do. Who wouldn’t ? ” 

“ I don’t.” 

“No, if you did I shouldn’t.” 

Dick was, it must be admitted, getting along 
very well, considering that he had only been pre- 
sented to the young lady ten minutes before. That 
3 27 


HALF A HERO 


was Dick’s way; and when the young lady is at- 
tractive, it is a way that has many recommenda- 
tions, only sometimes it leads to a pitfall — a cold 
answer, or a snub. 

“ But why,” asked Daisy, in apparent surprise, 
“ should you mind about what I thought ? I’m 
afraid I should never think about whether you liked 
it or not, you know.” 

“ Good-night,” said Dick. And when he got 
outside and was lighting his cigar, he exclaimed, 
“ Confound the girl ! ” And after a pause he 
added, “ Hang the fellow ! ” and shook his head 
and went home. 


28 


CHAPTER IV 


WEEDING OUT THE WEAK-KNEED 

In a short time it happened that Lady Eynesford 
conceived a high opinion of Mr. Coxon. He was, 
she declared, the one bright spot in the new Minis- 
try ; he possessed ability, principle, sound Church- 
man ship, and gentlemanly demeanour. A young 
man thus equipped could hardly fail of success, and 
Lady Eynesford, in spite of the Governor’s de- 
cidedly lukewarm approbation, was pleased to take 
the Attorney- General under her special protection. 
More than once in the next week or two did Mr. 
Coxon, tall-hatted, frock-coated, and new-gloved, 
in obedience to cordial invitations, take tea in the 
veranda of Government House. He was natu- 
rally gratified by these attentions, and, being not 
devoid of ambition, soon began to look upon his 
position as the starting-point for a greater prize. 
Lady Eynesford was, here again, with him — up to 
a point. She thought (and thoughts are apt to 
put themselves with a bluntness which would be 
inexcusable in speech) that it was high time that 
Eleanor Scaife was married, and, from an abstract 
point of view, this could hardly be denied. Lady 
Eynesford took the next step. Eleanor and Coxon 
would suit one another to perfection. Hence the 
invitations to tea, and Lady Eynesford’s consider- 
ate withdrawals into the house, or out of sight in 
the garden. Of course it was impossible to gauge 
Eleanor’s views at this early stage, but Lady 
Eynesford was assured of Mr. Coxon’s gratitude — 
29 


HALF A HERO 


his bearing left no doubt of it — and she congratu- 
lated herself warmly on the promising and benevo- 
lent scheme which she had set afoot. 

Now the danger of encouraging ambitious young 
men — and this remark is general in its scope, and 
not confined at all to one subject-matter — is that 
their vaulting imaginations constantly overleap the 
benevolence of their patrons. Mr. Coxon would 
not have been very grateful for permission to make 
love to Miss Scaife; he was extremely grateful for 
the opportunity of recommending himself to Alicia 
Derosne. The Governor’s sister — none less — be- 
came by degrees his aim and object, and when Lady 
Eynesford left him with Miss Scaife, hoping that 
Alicia would have the sense not to get in the way, 
Mr. Coxon’s soaring mind regarded himself as left 
with Alicia, and he hoped that the necessary exercise 
of discretion would be forthcoming from Miss 
Scaife. Presently this little comedy revealed itself 
to Eleanor, and, after an amused glance at the re- 
treating figure of her misguided friend, she would 
bury herself in Tomes on the British Colonies , and 
abandon Alicia to the visitor’s wiles. A little in- 
dignant at the idea of being “ married off” in this 
fashion, she did not feel it incumbent on her to 
open Lady Eynesford’s eyes. As for Alicia — Alicia 
laughed, and thought that young men were much 
the same all the world over. 

“ Tomes,” said Eleanor on one occasion, looking 
up from the first volume of that author — and per- 
haps she chose her passage with malice — “ clearly 
intimates his opinion that the Empire can’t hold 
together unless the social bonds between England 
and the colonies are strengthened.” 

“ Does he, dear? ” said Alicia, playing with the 
30 


WEEDING OUT THE WEAK-KNEED 


pug. 44 Do look at his tongue, Mr. Coxon. Isn’t 
it charming ? ” 

“Yes. Listen to this: 4 It is on every ground 
to be regretted that the divorce between society at 
home and in the colonies is so complete. The ties 
of common interest and personal friendship which, 
impalpable though they be, bind nations together 
more closely than constitutions and laws, are to a 
great extent wanting. Even the interchange of 
visits is rare ; closer connection by inter-marriage, 
in a broad view, non-existent.’ ” 

“ There’s a great deal of sense in that,” said 
Coxon. 

“Well, Mr. Coxon,” laughed Alicia, 4 4 you 
should have thought of it when you were in Eng- 
land.” 

Eleanor’s eyes had dropped again to Tomes, and 
Mr. Coxon answered, in a tone not calculated to 
disturb the reader, 

44 1 hope it’s not altogether too late.” 

44 The choice is so small out here, isn’t it ? Now, 
according to Tomes, Mr. Medland ought to marry 
a duchess — well, a dowager- duchess — but there 
isn’t one.” 

44 1 should hardly have thought the Premier 
quite the man for a duchess,” said Coxon, rather 
superciliously. 

44 Well, I like him much better than most dukes 
I’ve seen. Why do you shake your head ? ” 

44 I’ve the greatest respect for Mr. Medland as 
my leader, but — come, Miss Derosne, he’s hardly 
— now is he ? ” 

“ I like him very much indeed,” declared Alicia. 
44 1 think he’s the most interesting man I’ve ever 
met.” 


31 


HALF A HERO 


“ But thinking a man interesting and thinking 
him a man one would like to marry are quite dif- 
ferent, surely ? ” suggested fastidious Mr. Coxon. 

“ Thinking him interesting and thinking him a 
man one would be likely to marry are quite differ- 
ent,” corrected Eleanor, emerging from Tomes. 

“ By the way, who was Mrs. Medland ? ” asked 
Alicia. 

Coxon hesitated for a moment: Eleanor raised 
her eyes. 

“ I believe her name was Benyon,” he answered. 
“ I — I know nothing about her.” 

“ Didn’t you know her? ” 

“No, I was in England, and she died a year 
after I came back — before I went into politics at 
aU.” 

“ I wonder if she was nice.” 

“ My dear Alicia, what can it matter ? ” asked 
Eleanor. 

“If you come to that, Eleanor, most of the 
things we talk about don’t matter,” protested 
Alicia. “We are not Attorney- Generals, like 
Mr. Coxon, whose words are worth — how much ? ” 

“Now, Miss Derosne, you’re chaffing me.” 

“ Come and feed the swans,” said Alicia, rising. 

“ What will Mary think ? ” said Eleanor, settling 
herself down again to Tomes. “ And why is Alicia 
so curious about the Medlands ? ” 

It was perhaps natural that Eleanor should be 
puzzled to answer the question she put to herself, 
but in reality the interest Alicia felt admitted of 
easy explanation. She had first encountered Med- 
land under conditions which invested him with all 
the attraction that a visibly dominant character 
exercises over a young mind, and the impression 
32 


WEEDING OUT THE WEAK-KNEED 


then created had been of late much deepened by 
what she heard from her brother. Dick felt that 
the Governor would be a cold, and Lady Eynesford 
a thoroughly unfavourable, auditor of his views on 
the Medlands, but, in spite of Daisy’s cruel indif- 
ference, he had taken advantage of her permission 
to pay her more than one visit, and he poured out 
his soul to his sister. His outpourings consisted of 
enthusiastic praises of both father and daughter. 

“By Jove!” he said, “it’s simply — you know, 
A1 — simply fetching to see them together. He’s 
a splendid chap — not an ounce of side or nonsense 
about him. And she’s awfully pretty. Don’t 
you think she’s awfully pretty, A1 ? ” 

“ I only saw her for a moment, dear.” 

“ It’s too bad of Mary to go on as she does. 
She simply ignores Miss Medland.” 

44 Miss Medland’s still very young, Dick. Is he 
— how does he treat her ? ” 

“I don’t know. It’s almost funny — they’re 
always jumping up to get one another things, 
don’t you know ! ” answered Dick, whose feelings 
outran his powers of elegant description. 

44 Do you go there much, Dick ? ” 

44 Now, Al, don’t try to do Mary to me.” 

Alicia laughed. 

44 I think Mary will 4 do ’ as much 4 Mary ’ to you 
as you want, if you don’t take care, you foolish 
boy. But, Dick, tell me. How do Willie and 
Mr. Medland get on? ” 

44 Oh, pretty well, but — You won’t tell ? ” 
Alicia promised secrecy, and Dick, conscious of 
criminality, lowered his voice and continued, 

44 1 believe there’s a row on in the Cabinet al- 
ready. Willie said Puttock and Jewell were at 
33 


HALF A HERO 


l°gg er h ea d s with Norburn, and Medland was in- 
clined to back Nor burn.” 

“ And Mr. Coxon ? ” 

“ He’s supposed to be lying low. And then I 
was down at the Club and met old Oakapple there, 
and he told me that Kilshaw had boasted of hav- 
ing done a deal with Puttock.” 

“ What did he mean? ” 

“ Why, that he and his gang — the rich capital- 
ists, you know — were to back up old Puttock’s 
temperance measures, provided Puttock (and 
Jewell, if Puttock could nobble him) prevented 
Medland from bringing in — what the deuce was 
it ? — some Socialistic labour legislation or other — I 
forget what. Anyhow the Chief Justice thought 
Perry would be back soon.” 

“ What ? That Mr. Medland would be turned 
out? What a shame! He hasn’t had a fair 
chance, has he ? ” 

The gossip which Dick had picked up was not 
very wide of the mark. It was perhaps too early 
to talk of absolute dissensions, but it was tolerably 
well known that a struggle was likely to occur in 
the Cabinet, nominally on the question of the 
relative priority to be given to different measures, 
more truly perhaps on the issue whether the ad- 
vanced labour party, represented by Norburn, or 
the Radicals of the older type, headed by Puttock 
and Jewell, were to control the policy of the 
Premier and the Government. The latter section 
was inextricably connected, and, in its personnel , 
almost identical with the party who set the Pro- 
hibition question above and before all other mat- 
ters. The concrete form taken by this conflict of 
abstract principles seemed likely to be — should the 


WEEDING OUT THE WEAK-KNEED 


Government begin with a Temperance measure, or 
should it, in the first place, proceed to give to 
Labour that drastic Factory and Workshop Act 
which Norburn had advocated and Medland ac- 
cepted, and which would, Mr. Kilshaw declared, 
reduce every manufacturer to the position of a 
slave of Government and a pauper to boot, would 
drive capital from the colony, and shut up every 
mill in New Lindsey? Now Mr. Kilshaw would, 
if he were reduced to choose, rather close the 
public-houses than the mills. So he told Sir 
Robert Perry, who was very quiet, but very 
watchful just now; and the story was that Sir 
Robert said, “ Puttock has got shares in the South- 
ern Sea Mill — and Puttock’s a Prohibition man,” 
and refused to say any more ; but that was enough 
— so the talk ran — to send Mr. Kilshaw straight to 
Puttock’s hall-door. 

These public matters gave Mr. Cox on much food 
for thought. His own attitude was, at present, 
considered to be one of neutrality toward the rival 
factions in the Government. He was in the habit 
of defining his aim in political life as being a steady 
and gradual removal of obstacles to the progress 
of the colony ; to attain complete truth, it was 
only necessary to alter the definition by substitut- 
ing “ Mr. Coxon ” for “ the colony ” ; and the ques- 
tion which now occupied him was how he might 
best secure the best possible position for himself, 
without, as he hastened to protest, abandoning his 
principles. He disliked Puttock, and he was envi- 
ous of Norburn, who threatened to supplant him 
as the “ rising man” of his party. Should he help 
Puttock to remove Norburn, or lend Norburn a 
hand in ousting Puttock ? 

35 


HALF A HERO 


Down to the very week before the Legislative 
Assembly met, Mr. Medland kept his own counsel, 
disclosing his mind not even to his colleagues. 
Then he called a Cabinet, and listened to the con- 
flicting views set forth by Puttock and Norburn. 

“ And what do you say, Mr. Coxon ? ” he asked, 
when Puttock’s vehement harangue came to an 
end. 

44 I shall follow your judgment implicitly,” replied 
Mr. Coxon, with touching fidelity. 

44 I feel bound to state,” said Mr. Puttock, “ and 
I believe I speak for my friend Jewell also ” (Mr. 
Jewell nodded), 4 4 that with us priority for Temper- 
ance legislation and a cautious policy in imposing 
hampering restrictions on commercial undertakings 
are of vital moment. We cannot agree to give 
way on either point.” 

44 And you, Norburn ?” asked Medland, turning 
to his devoted follower, and smiling a kindly smile. 

Norburn was about to speak, when Puttock 
broke in, 

44 It is best that the Premier should understand 
our position ; what we have stated is absolutely es- 
sential to our continuance in the Government.” 

Mr. Medland thought that the function of a fol- 
lower was to follow, and of a leader to lead. He 
always found it difficult to put up with opposition, 
and patience was not among whatever qualities of 
statesmanship he possessed. 

Drumming gently on the table, he said, 

44 Oh, no Temperance this session. We’ll give 
’em a Labour session.” He paused, and added, 
44 And give it ’em hot and strong. ” 

So that evening Puttock and Jewell resigned, 
and the Cabinet, meeting the House shorn and 
36 


WEEDING OUT THE WEAK-KNEED 


maimed, was established in power by the magnifi- 
cent majority of ten. 


“ If so soon as this I’m done for, 

I wonder what I was begun for! ” 

quoted Sir John Oakapple. 44 If they never agreed 
at all, what did they take office together for ? ” 

44 The screw,” suggested Captain Heseltine. 

44 Then why haven’t they stuck to it ? ” 

Silence met this question, and the Chief Justice 
turned a look of bland inquiry on Mr. Kilshaw. 

Mr. Kilshaw coughed and turned the pages of 
the Kirton World. 

The Chief Justice winked at Dick Derosne, and 
said that it was refreshing to see there were still 
men who would sacrifice office to conviction. 

44 Oh, uncommon, Sir John,” said Dick Derosne, 
and these cynics, having done entire injustice to 
two deeply sincere men, went off and joined in a. 
game of pool. The Chief Justice took the pool. 


37 


CHAPTER V 


A TALK AT A DANCE 

Immediately after the Assembly had so narrowly 
confirmed Mr. Medland’s position, it adjourned for 
a fortnight in order to allow time for the reorgani- 
sation of the Government, and the preparation of 
its legislative projects. The Governor seized the 
opportunity and started on a shooting expedition, 
accompanied by his wife. His absence somewhat 
diminished the eclat of Sir John Oakapple’s dance, 
but nevertheless it was agreed to be a very brilliant 
affair. Everybody came, for Sir Johns position 
invited hospitality to all parties alike, and the host, 
as became a well-to-do bachelor, provided a sump- 
tuous entertainment. Even Mr. Medland was 
there, for it was his daughter’s first public appear- 
ance, and he and Sir Robert Perry had interchanged 
some friendly remarks on the existing crisis. 

“ I suppose I mustn’t ask who you’re going to 
give us instead of your deserters,” said Sir Robert 
jokingly. 

“ Oh,” answered Medland, “ I’m going to fill 
up with Labour men. I haven’t quite fixed on the 
men yet.” 

“ Then you’ll be all one colour — all red ? But I 
must congratulate you on your daughter’s debut . 
She and Miss Derosne are the belles of the evening.” 

Then Sir Robert, in his pretty way, must needs 
be led up to Daisy Medland and dance a quadrille 
with her, apologising politely to Dick Derosne, 
38 


A TALK AT A DANCE 


who had arranged to sit out the said quadrille with 
the same lady, and became a violent anti-Perryite 
on the spot. 

Alicia passed on Mr. Coxon’s arm, and stopped 
for a moment to condole. 

“ I didn’t know Premiers danced,” she said, and 
perhaps her glance conveyed a shy invitation to 
Medland. 

“ If I ask you now, I shall have another seces- 
sion,” he replied, smiling at Coxon. 44 Besides, I 
can’t dance.” 

“You must sit out with me then,” she said, 
growing bolder. 44 You don’t mind, do you, Mr. 
Coxon?” 

Coxon and Dick were left to console one another, 
and Alicia sat down with Medland. At first he 
was silent, watching his daughter. When the 
quadrille ended, he rose and said, 

44 Come into the garden.” 

44 But my partner for the next won’t be able to 
find me.” 

44 W ell, supposing he can’t ? ” said the Premier. 

44 It makes one very conceited to be a Premier,” 
thought Alicia, but she went into the garden. 

Then began what she declared to herself was 
the most interesting conversation to which she had 
ever listened. From silence, the Premier passed to 
a remark here and there, thence to a conversation, 
thence, as the evening went on and they strolled fur- 
ther and further away from the house, into a mon- 
ologue on his life and aims and hopes. Young 
man after young man sought her in vain, or, finding 
the pair, feared to intrude and retired in discontent, 
while Medland strove to draw the picture of that 
far-off society whose bringing-near was his goal in 
39 


HALF A HERO 


public life. She wondered if he talked to other 
women like that: and she found herself hoping 
that he did not. His gaunt form seemed to fill 
and his sunk eyes to spring out to meet the light, 
as he painted for her the time when his dreams 
should have clothed themselves with the reality 
which his persuasive imagination almost gave 
them now. 

Then he suddenly turned on himself. 

44 And I might have done something,” he said ; 
44 but I’ve wasted most of my life.” 

44 Wasted it? ” she echoed in a wondering ques- 
tion. 

44 1 don’t know why I talk about it to-night, still 
less why I talk about it to you. I talked about it 
last to — to my wife.” 

44 Ah ! But your daughter ? ” 

44 Daisy ! ” he laughed tenderly. 44 Poor little 
Daisy ! I don’t bother her with it all.” Then 
he added, 44 Really I’ve no business to bother you 
either, Miss Derosne. I break out sometimes. 
I’m afraid I’m not 4 a silent, strong man.’ Does 
it bore you ? ” 

44 You know — you know — ” Alicia stammered. 

44 And now,” he said, rising in his excitement, 
44 even now, what have I ? The place — the form — 
the name of power ; and these creatures hold me 
back and hang on my flank and — I can do nothing.” 
He sank back on the bench where she sat. 

Alicia put her hand out and drew it back. Then 
she stretched it out again, and laid it on his arm. 

44 1 am so sorry,” she said, and her voice faltered. 
44 Oh, if I could — but how absurd ! ” 

Medland turned suddenly and looked her in the 
face. 


A TALK AT A DANCE 


“ You will help some one,” he answered, “ some 
better man. And I — I beg your pardon. Come.” 

Alicia asked herself afterward if she ought to 
be ashamed of what she did then. She caught the 
Premier by the arm, and said, 

“ But I want to stay with you.” And then she 
sat trembling to hear his answer. 

For a moment he did not answer. He passed 
his hand over his brow ; then he smiled sadly. 

“ Nearly twenty years ago a woman said that to 
me,” he said. “ But she — well, it wasn’t to talk 
politics.” 

“ Oh, to call it talking politics ! ” she answered, 
with a little gasping laugh. 

With another swift turn of his head, he bent his 
eyes on hers. She turned her head away, and nei- 
ther spoke. Alicia played nervously with one glove 
which she had stripped off, while Medland gravely 
watched her face, beautiful in its pure outline and 
quivering with unwonted emotions. With a start 
he roused himself. 

“ Come,” he said imperiously, offering his arm. 
She took it, and, without more words, they turned 
toward the house. 

They had not gone far, when Eleanor Scaife met 
them. She was walking quickly, looking round as 
she went, as though in search. When she saw them 
she started, and cried, 

“ Oh, I want you, Alicia.” 

Medland immediately drew aside, and with a bow 
took his way. Alicia, calming herself with an effort, 
asked what was the matter. 

“ Why, it’s that wretched brother of yours. I 
really do not know what Mary will say. I shall be 
afraid- — — ” 


41 


HALF A HERO 


“ But what has Dick done ? ” 

‘'Done? Why he’s danced six dances out of 
eight with that Medland child. The whole room’s 
talking about them.” 

“Eight dances? There can’t have been eight 
dances ? ” 

“ Don’t be silly,” said Eleanor sharply. “ I sup- 
pose you danced? No! I remember I didn’t see 
you. Where have you been ? ” 

“ I — I’ve been sitting out.” 

“Not — not — Alicia, with one man? Worse 

and ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Mr. Coxon, then, I hope ? At least he’s safe a” 
“No.” 

“ Who then ? ” 

“ I don’t know why you should ask ” 

“Alicia! Was it — ?” exclaimed Eleanor, with 
a gesture toward where she had found her friend. 

“Mr. Medland? Yes,” answered Alicia. And, 
in her effort to exclude timidity, she infused into 
her voice a note of defiance. 

Eleanor sat down on the nearest seat. Surprise 
dominated her faculties. Dick’s behaviour was 
reprehensible, but, given such creatures as young 
men, natural. But Alicia? The thing was too 
surprising to cause uneasiness. 

“ W ell, you are a queer child ! Here’s all the 
room looking for you to dance with you, and you 
go and sit in the garden with a politician of five- 
and-forty ! What in the world were you doing ? ” 
“ Talking politics,” said Alicia, now quite calmly. 

“ And you’ve been here since ? ” 

“ The first quadrille.” 

“ Six mortal dances ! ” said Eleanor, in an envious 
42 


A TALK AT A DANCE 


tone. Alicia had had a grand opportunity. “ Did 
you remember to ask him about that description of 
the Cabinet meetings in Tomes? You remember 
we agreed to ? ” 

“I’m afraid I forgot, dear.” 

<£ Oh, how stupid of you! If I’d been — but good 
gracious ! I forgot Dick. Do come, Alicia, and 
get him away from her. W e seem to have nothing 
but Medlands to-night ! ” 

The first person they met inside the ball-room 
was Mr. Coxon. He was enveloped in gloom. 
Alicia’s conscience smote her. 

“ Oh ! ” she cried, “ I forgot Mr. Coxon ! I must 
go and scold him for not coming for me. Nonsense, 
Eleanor ! I can’t help about Dick, ” and, shaking 
off Miss Scaife’s detaining hand, she went to play 
the usual imposture. 

Eleanor looked round in bewilderment. Seeing 
Lady Perry, she was struck with an idea, crossed 
the room, and joined the ex- Premier’s smiling, 
pleasant wife. Lady Perry had noticed enough to 
be au fait with the situation at a word. She rose 
and went to where Medland was now leaning list- 
lessly against the wall. She spoke a word to him ; 
he started, smiled, and shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I know you’ll forgive me. One can’t be too 
careful,” she urged. “No one can be father and 
mother both.” 

Mr. Medland beckoned to his daughter ; she 
came to him, Dick standing a few feet off. 

“Whenever, Daisy,” said Medland, “a thing is 
pleasant, one must not, in this world, have much 
of it. Is that the gospel, Lady Perry ? ” 

“ You’ll make young Mr. Derosne too conceited, 
my dear,” whispered Lady Perry, very kindly; but 
4 43 


HALF A HERO 


she favoured Dick, who knew well that he was a 
sinner, with a severe glance. 

Thus Eleanor Scaife, having rid her party of the 
Medlands — for the moment, as she impatiently 
added — was at liberty to listen to the conversation 
of Mrs. Puttock. Mrs. Puttock was always most 
civil to any of the Government House party, and 
she entertained Eleanor, who resolutely refused all 
invitations to dance, with plenty of gossip. Amidst 
their talk and the occasional interruptions of men 
who joined and left them, the evening wore a^ay, 
and Eleanor had just signed to Alicia to make ready 
to go, when Mrs. Puttock touched on the Premier, 
who was visible across the room, chatting merrily 
with his host, and laughing heartily at the Chief 
Justice’s stories. 

44 The Premier seems in good spirits,” said Mrs. 
Puttock, a little acidly. 

44 Oh, I expect he’s only bearing up in public,” 
laughed Eleanor. 44 But there certainly is a great 
change in him since I first recollect him.” 

44 Indeed, Miss Scaife.” 

44 Yes,” said Eleanor, rising, for she saw Alicia 
approaching under Captain Heseltine’s escort. 44 It 
was about the Jubilee time. He seemed then 
quite overcome with grief at the loss of his wife. 
Ah, here’s Alicia ! ” 

44 Wife ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Puttock, bestowing on 
Eleanor a look of deep significance. 44 It’s my 
belief he never had a wife.” 

Eleanor started. 

44 What do you mean? ” she began, but she 
checked herself when she found that Alicia was 
close beside her. She hastily bade Mrs. Puttock 
good-night. 


44 


A TALK AT A DANCE 


“ I mean what I say,” observed that lady, with 
an emphatic nod. Eleanor escaped in bewilder- 
ment. 

46 Who never had a wife?” asked Alicia, with a 
laugh, as they were putting on their cloaks. 

After a moment’s pause, Eleanor answered, 

“Sir John Oakapple,” and she excused this 
deviation from truth by the sage reflection that 
girls like Alicia must not be told everything. 

“We all know that,” commented Alicia, con- 
temptuously. “ I hoped it was something inter- 
esting.” 

Eleanor enjoyed a smile in the sheltering gloom 
of the carriage. She felt very discreet. 


45 


CHAPTER VI 


A CANDIDATE FOR OFFICE 

The Premier sent his daughter home alone in a 
fly and walked with Coxon, whose road lay the 
same way. As they went, they talked of plans and 
prospects, and Medland unconsciously exasperated 
his companion by praising Norburn’s character and 
capacity. 

“Depend upon it, he’s the coming man of New 
Lindsey,” he said. “ He thinks the world will get 
better sooner than it will, you may say. Well, 
perhaps I share that illusion. Anyhow he has 
enthusiasm and grit, and I love his utter disin- 
terestedness. 5 ’ 

Coxon acquiesced coldly in his rival’s praises. 

“ That,” continued Medland, “ is where we have 
the pull. Who is there to follow Perry? Now 
Norburn is ready to step into my shoes the mo- 
ment I’m gone, or — or come to grief.” 

They had reached Digby Square, a large open 
place, laid out with walks and trees, and named 
after Sir Jabez Digby, K.B., first Governor of New 
Lindsey. The Premier paused to light a cigar. 
Coxon watched him with a morose frown ; he was 
angry and envious at Medland’s disregard of the 
pretensions which he thought his own achievements 
justified. Though he was conscious that it would 
be wisest to say nothing, he could not help ob- 
serving, 


46 


A CANDIDATE FOR OFFICE 


“ Well, I hope it will be a long time before I am 
asked to change service under you for service 
under Norburn.” 

Medland’s quick ear caught the note of anger. 

“Well,” he said, “its ill prophesying. Time 
brings its own leaders. I know Norburn and 
you will work loyally together anyhow, whatever 
positions you hold to one another.” 

This polite concession did not appease Coxon. 

“ There is much that I distrust in his methods 
and aims,” he remarked. 

“ I mustn’t listen to this, my dear fellow.” 

“ Of course I say it in strict ” 

“Yes, but still — I should say the same to 
Norburn.” 

They walked on a few steps, and the Premier 
had just taken his cigar from his mouth in order to 
resume the conversation, when a man stepped up 
to him, appearing, as it seemed, from among the 
trees, and said, 

“May I have a word with you, Mr. Med- 
land? ” 

The speaker was dressed smartly, but not well, 
in a new suit of light clothes. He was tall and 
strongly built ; a full grey beard made it a matter 
of difficulty to distinguish his features clearly in 
the dim light. 

“ I beg pardon, I don’t think I’ve the pleasure of 
knowing you, but I shall be very happy. What is 
it, sir ? ” 

“A word in private,” said the stranger, “if this 
gentleman will excuse me.” 

In response to a glance from his chief, Coxon 
said good-night and strolled on, hearing Medland 
say. 


47 


HALF A HERO 


“ I seem to know your voice, but I can’t lay my 
hand on your name.” 

The stranger drew nearer to him. 

“ I pass by the name of Benham now,” he said ; 
“ I haven’t forgotten you. I’ve too good cause to 
remember you.” 

Medland looked at him closely. 

“ It’s only the beard that puzzles you,” said the 
stranger, with a grim smile. ^ 

“ Benyon ! ” exclaimed the Premier. “ I thought 
you had left the country. What do you want with 
me, sir? ” 

“ I have not left the country, and I want a good 
deal with you, Mr. Premier Medland.” 

“ I lost touch of you four years ago.” 

“ Yes; it ceased to matter what became of me 
about then, didn’t it ? ” 

“ Have you been in the same place? ” 

“ No ; I broke. I have been up country.” 

“ What brings you here ? If you wanted money 
you could have written.” 

“ I’ve never asked you for money. I wouldn’t 
come to you if I wasn’t hard put to it.” 

“ What do you want then ? ” 

“ Is that all you have to say to me ? Have you 
no regret to express to me ? ” 

“ Not an atom,” said the Premier, puffing at his 
cigar. “ If I’d felt any regret I should have ex- 
pressed it long ago.” 

“ Time doesn’t seem to bring repentance to 
you.” 

“ Don’t talk nonsense. What do you want with 
me?” 

“Well, yes, business is business. Look here! 
I am a respected man where I live. My name is 


A CANDIDATE FOR OFFICE 


known at Shepherdstown. Benham is, I say, a 
respected name.” 

“Well?” 

“Now, here in Ivirton I’m not known. I was 
never here in my life before. No one would rec- 
ognise me as the man whose ” 

“ As Benyon ? I suppose not. Well ? ” 

“ Taking all that into account, I see no reason 
why I shouldn’t get the vacant Inspectorship of 
Railways. It’s a nice place, and it’s in your gift.” 

Mr. Medland raised his eyebrows and smiled. 

“ It involves travelling most of the time,” pur- 
sued Benham, “ and I needn’t live in Kirton, if you 
preferred that arrangement.” 

“You are very considerate.” 

“You see you owe me something.” 

“ Which I might pay out of the public purse? 
Is that your suggestion ? ” 

“ Oh, come, we’re men of business. You’re not 
on a platform.” 

“No,” said Mr. Medland meditatively. “I am 
not on a platform. Consequently I feel at libert" 
to tell you — ” he paused and smiled again. 

“ Well?” 

“ To go to the devil ! ” said the Premier. 

“ Take care ! I know a good deal about you. 
There are many men would be glad to know, defi- 
nitely, what I know.” 

“ Then ask them for an Inspectorship.” 

Benham drew a step nearer. 

“ Ay, and I can hit you nearer home.” 

“You might have, once. What can you do 
now? She’s safe from you,” answered Medland, 
with a frown. 

“Yes, she’s safe, but there’s the daughter.” 

49 


HALF A HERO 


“ Daisy ! ” 

“ Yes, Daisy.” And he added, in slow, em- 
phatic tones — “ Yes, my daughter Daisy.” 

Medland was about to answer violently, but he 
curbed his temper and said quietly, 

“Your daughter? Come, don’t talk nonsense.” 

“A daughter born to my wife in wedlock is my 
daughter. If I claim her, what answer is there ? ” 

“ I can prove that she’s not your daughter.” 

“ Perhaps ; and what an edifying sight ! The 
Premier proving — ” Mr. Benham broke off with a 
laugh that sounded loud and harsh in the silent 
night air. 

Medland ground his heel into the gravel. 

“ How it will please your Methodist friends, and 
the swells at Government House! You can tell 
’em all about that trip to Meadow Beach under 
the name of — what was it ? — Christie, wasn’t it ? 
And about your night-flitting, and ” 

“ Hold your tongue.” 

“ Oh, there’s no one to hear now. You won’t 
like proving all that, will you? No, no, the girl 
will come to her loving father ! Take a minute to 
think it over, Medland — take just a minute. An 
Inspectorship’s no great matter to a politician, you 
know. You’re not so mighty pure as all that ! 
Take a minute. I can wait,” and he flung himself 
on to a bench and lit a cheroot. 

Then, in Digby Square, at two o’clock in the 
morning, the devil tempted “Jimmy” Medland. 
The man had indeed hit him close — very close. 
He had hit him in the love he bore his daughter, 
and in the love he bore her mother and her moth- 
er’s fame. He had hit him in his love of place and 
power, and his nobler joy in using them for what 
50 


A CANDIDATE FOR OFFICE 


seemed to him good purposes. Love and tender- 
ness — pride and ambition — the man shot his arrow 
at all. And as Medland stood motionless in 
thought, across these abiding reflections came now 
and again a new one — the image of a face that had 
been that night upturned to his almost in worship, 
and would, if this thing were done, be turned away 
in sorrow, shame, and scorn. 

What, after all, was an Inspectorship? It was 
only doing what the world said all politicians did. 
What, compared with losing love and power and 
fair fame, was it to — job an Inspectorship ? Be- 
sides, from one point of view, the man had a kind 
of claim upon him : he had done him wrong. 

“ I dare say,” interrupted Benham, “ that you’re 
thinking there’s nothing to prevent me 4 asking for 
more ’ next month. W ell, of course there isn’t. 
But I shan’t. I only want a decent position and a 
decent income, and then I’ll let you alone. Come, 
Medland, rancour apart, you know I’m not a com- 
mon blackmailer.” 

This remark tickled Medland, and he smiled. 
Still, it was true in its way. He had known the 
man very well, and, harsh though he was to all 
about him, the man had been fairly honest and had 
borne a decent name. Probably what he was doing 
now did not seem to him much worse than any 
other backstairs method of getting on in the world. 
Medland thought that in all likelihood, if he gained 
his request, he would keep his word. That thought 
made the temptation stronger, but it forced itself 
on him when he remembered the number of years 
during which he had been even more vulnerable in 
one respect than he was now, and yet the man had 
left him alone. He could say neither yes nor no. 

51 


HALF A HERO 


“ You must give me a few days for considera- 
tion,” he said. 

Benham shrugged his shoulders in amazement. 

“ Have you promised the berth ? ” he asked. 

“No, I haven’t promised it.” 

“ Got another "candidate? ” 

“ Only the man who ought to have it,” answered 
the Premier, and Benham’s air so infected him that 
he felt the answer to be a very weak one. 

“ You see,” objected Benham, “from what I can 
learn you’re only in office from day to day, so to 
speak, and where shall I be if you get turned out? ” 

“We’re safe anyhow till the Assembly meets, 
ten days hence.” 

“ All right. I’ll give you till then. And really, 
Jimmy Median d, little reason as I have to love 
you, I should advise you not to be a fool. Here’s 
my address. You can write.” 

“ I shan’t write. I may send or come.” 

Benham laughed. 

“ He’s got some wits about him, after all ! 
Good-night. Mind giving me a fair start? You 
used to be a hot-tempered fellow and — however, 
I suppose Premiers can’t afford the luxury of 
assaults.” 

“ I’m sorry to say they can’t,” said Mr. Medland. 
“ I’ll wait five minutes where I am.” 

“ All right. Good-night,” and Mr. Benham dis- 
appeared among the trees. 

At the end of five minutes the Premier resumed 
his interrupted walk and soon reached his home. 
His study showed signs of his daughter’s presence. 
Her fan was on the table, her gloves beside it ; on 
the mantelpiece lay a red rose, its stalk bound 
round with wire. Medland recognised it as like 
52 


A CANDIDATE FOR OFFICE 

the bud Dick Derosne had worn in his button- 
hole. 

“ The young rascal ! ” he said, as he mixed him- 
self some brandy-and-water, and sat down to his 
desk. The table was covered with drafts of his 
new bill, and he pulled the papers into shape, 
arranged his blotting-pad, and dipped his pen in 
the ink. Then he lit his pipe and rested his head 
on the back of his chair, staring up at the ceiling. 
And there he stayed till the servant, coming in at 
six o’clock, found him hastily snatching up the pen 
and seeming to make a memorandum. Being 
Premier, she said, was killing him, and, “ for my 
part,” she added, “ I don’t care how soon we’re 
out.” 


53 


CHAPTER VII 


A COMMON SPECTACLE 

After some anxious consideration, Eleanor Scaife 
decided to keep silence for the present about Mrs. 
Puttock’s strange remark. That lady had deluged 
her with such a flood of gossip, that Eleanor felt 
that a thing was not likely to be true merely be- 
cause Mrs. Puttock asserted it, while, if the sug- 
gested scandal had a basis in fact, it was probable 
that some of the men of the Governor’s household, 
or indeed the Governor himself, would be well 
informed on the matter. If so, Lord Eynesford 
would use his discretion in telling his wife. Elea- 
nor was afraid that, if she interfered, she might run 
the risk of appearing officious, and of receiving the 
polite snub which Lady Eynesford was somewhat 
of an adept in administering. After all, the 
woman, whoever she was, was dead and gone, and 
Eleanor, in the absence of fuller knowledge, de- 
clined to be shocked. A woman, she reflected, 
who studies the problems of society, must be pre- 
pared for everything. Still, she felt that intimacy 
with the Medlands was not to be encouraged, and 
began to range herself by Lady Eynesford’s side 
so far as the Premier was concerned. 

“We had a delightful trip, ” said Lady Eynes- 
ford, on the afternoon of the day following the 
dance. “ I hope everything has been going on 
well here, Eleanor. What was it like at Sir 
John’s ? ” 


54 


A COMMON SPECTACLE 


“ They missed you and the Governor very 
much.” 

“Oh, I don’t matter, and I hope Dick repre- 
sented Willie, and danced with everybody’s wife 
in turn. That’s poor Willie’s duty.” 

This programme was so very different from that 
which Dick had planned and carried out on his 
own account, that Eleanor shrank from the deceit 
involved in acquiescence. 

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “You see, Dick’s 
young and hasn’t got a wife of his own.” 

“ Tant mieuoc , he’d feel the contrast less,” replied 
Lady Eynesford, with airy assurance. 4 4 Who did 
he dance with ? ” 

Eleanor racked her memory and produced the 
names of four ladies with each of whom Dick had 
danced one hasty waltz. 

“ That’s only four dances,” objected Lady Eynes- 
ford. 

“ Oh, I didn’t notice. I was talking to Sir John 
and to Mrs. Puttock.” 

“ Eleanor ! ” 

4 4 W ell then, he danced once or twice with little 
Daisy Medland. It was her first ball, you know.” 

44 He needn’t have done it twice; I suppose he 
was bound to once. Dear me ! W e shall have to 
consider what we’re to do about her now.” 

44 She’s a pretty girl, Mary.” 

44 Did Dick think so? ” asked Lady Eynesford 
quickly. 

Eleanor distinguished between Mrs. Puttock’s 
remark and Dick’s conduct. 44 Well, it looked 
like it,” she answered. 

44 What do you mean ? ” 

44 To tell the truth, Mary, he danced with her 

55 


HALF A HERO 


half the evening, and, I think, would have gone on 
all night if Lady Perry hadn’t stopped it.” 

“ The wretched boy ! ” 

At this moment the wretched boy happened to 
enter Lady Eynesford’s boudoir. Dick was dressed 
for riding, was humming a tune, and appeared 
generally well pleased with himself and the 
world. 

“ You wretched boy ! ” said his sister-in-law. 

Dick gave her one glance. Then, assuming an 
air of trepidation, he murmured reproachfully, 

“ Nous sommes traliis .” 

“What have you to say for yourself? No, I’m 
not joking. I particularly wanted to avoid being 
mixed up with these Medlands one bit more than 
we could help, and, directly my back is turned, 
you go and ” 

“ Have you seen Alicia yet ? ” asked Dick. 

“ Seen Alicia? No, not to talk to.” 

“ Well then, keep some of it. Don’t spend it all 
on me. You’ll want it, Mary.” 

“ Dick, you’re very impertinent. What do you 
mean ? ” 

Dick was about to answer, when he saw Eleanor 
frowning at him. He raised his brows. Eleanor 
rapidly returned the signal. 

“ She flirted disgracefully with Sir John,” he said. 

“ How dare you make fun of me like that ? It 
was most foolish and — and wrong of you. I shall 
speak to Willie about it.” 

“I thought it was the constitutional thing to 
do,” pleaded Dick, but Lady Eynesford was already 
on her way to the door, and vanished through it 
with a scornful toss of her head. 

“You gave me away,” said Dick to Eleanor. 

56 


A COMMON SPECTACLE 


“ Never trust a woman ! And, Eleanor, what were 
you nodding like an old mandarin for? ” 

“ I thought it just as well we shouldn’t vex Mary 
just now by telling her how — how friendly Alicia 
was with Mr. Medland.” 

44 Oh, I see. I wish you’d thought it just as well 
not to vex Mary by telling her how — how friendly 
I was with Miss Medland.” 

44 It’s quite different,” said Miss Scaife coldly. 
4 4 In Alicia, it was merely strange. Mr. Medland 

might be her father. Now, Miss Medland ” 

44 1 never let on about you and Coxon,” said 
Dick, who wished to change the subject, and made 
his escape under shelter of Miss Scaife’s indignant 
repudiation. 

Still humming his tune, he mounted his horse 
and rode to the Public Park. At a particular turn 
of the avenue he pulled up and waited under a 
tree. Presently a pony-carriage appeared in the 
distance. 

4 4 Good ! ” said Dick, throwing away his cigarette 
and feeling if his neck-cloth were in its place. The 
pony-cart drew near. Dick saw with pleasure the 
figure of the driver, but he also perceived, to his 
great disgust, that a man was sitting by her side. 

44 That’s the way they ” — he meant women — 
44 let you in ! ” he remarked. 44 Anybody would 
have supposed she meant she drove alone. Who 
the deuce has she got there ? ” 

Miss Medland had Norburn with her, and Nor- 
burn was just explaining to her — for he did not 
imitate her father’s forbearance — the methods by 
which he proposed to banish the evil monster, com- 
petition, from the world. There is, however, one 
sort of competition, at least, which Norburn’s meth- 
57 


HALF A HERO 


ods will hardly banish, and it was into the clutches 
of this particular form of the evil monster that Mr. 
Norburn was, little as he thought it, about to be 
pushed. A long period of intimacy and favour 
excluded from his mind the suspicion that he might 
have to fight for his position with Daisy Medland ; 
and, if he could have brought himself to entertain 
the thought of a successful rival — of some one who, 
coming suddenly between, should break the strong 
bonds of affection well tried by time — he certainly 
would not have expected to find such a competitor 
in Dick Derosne. In fact, neither of the young 
men was capable of appreciating the attractions of 
the other: Dick considering Norburn very doubt- 
fully a gentleman, and very certainly what in his 
University days he dubbed a “smug”; Norburn 
regarding him with the rather impatient contempt 
that such a man is apt to bestow on those for whom 
dressing themselves and amusing themselves are 
the chief labours of a day. Moreover, Norburn 
did not frequent dances, and young men who do 
not frequent dances often go wrong by forgetting 
how much may happen between the afternoon of a 
Tuesday and the morning of a W ednesday. 

No doubt those of us who are men, having been 
more or less pretty fellows in our time, have had 
our triumphs, concerning which we are, as a rule, 
becomingly mute, but occasionally, in the confi- 
dences of the smoking-room, undesirably loqua- 
cious. For this fault there is no excuse, unless 
such a one as justifies the practice of inflicting re- 
prisals in international quarrels ; it being quite cer- 
tain that our failures are no secret — indeed there 
must be covertly (but extensively) circulating some- 
where a Gazette wherein such occurrences are reg- 
58 


A COMMON SPECTACLE 


istered — there is a kind of “wild justice” even in 
smoking-room disclosures. But whatever our bad 
or good fortune may have been, it is not to be sup- 
posed for a moment that any of us enjoy such an 
enchanting revelation as comes to a young girl 
who, by nature’s kind freak, has been made beau- 
tiful. Daisy Medland was radiant as she turned 
from Norburn’s pale thoughtful face and careless 
garb to Dick Derosne, the outward perfection of a 
well - bom, well - made, well - dressed Englishman, 
bowing, smiling, and debonair. Daisy liked Nor- 
burn very much — how much she never quite knew 
— but there was no doubt that two young men 
were a pleasant change from one, and the contrast 
between them increased the charm — a novel charm 
to her — of the situation, for she was well aware 
that, different as they were from one another, 
strong as the contrast was, they were both at this 
moment thinking precisely the same thought, name- 
ly, “ Who’s this fellow, and what does he want ? ” 
— a coincidence which again shows that Norburn’s 
theories had much to do before they conquered the 
world. 

It is not a very uncommon sight to see a clever 
man sit mum, abashed by the chatter of a cheery 
shallow-pate, who is happily unconscious of the 
oppressive triviality of his own conversation. Nor- 
burn’s eager flow of words froze at the contact 
of Dick’s small-talk, and he was a discontented 
auditor of ball-room and club gossip. It amazed 
him that a man should know, or care, or talk about 
more than half the things on which Dick descanted 
so merrily ; it astounded him that they should 
win interest as keen and looks as bright as had 
ever rewarded the deepest truth or the highest 


HALF A HERO 


aspiration. All of which, however, was not really 
at all odd, if only Mr. Norburn would have con- 
sidered the matter a little more closely. But then 
an old favourite threatened by a new rival is not 
in a mood for cool analysis. 

44 And they say,” pursued Dick, 44 that Puttock’s 
coming back to your father because Sir Robert 
trod on Mrs. P.’s new black silk and tore it half off 
her — tore it awfully, you know.” 

Daisy laughed gaily. 

44 You weren’t there, were you, Mr. Norburn ? 
Well, it was worth all the money only to see old 
Mrs. Grim eat ices — you remember, Miss Med- 
land ? She bolted three while Sir John was pro- 
posing the Queen’s health, and two more in the 
first verse of 4 God save — ’ ” and so Dick ran 
on. 

Mr. Norburn consulted his watch. 

“ I’m afraid I must go,” he said. “ I’m due at 
the office.” 

44 Oh,” exclaimed Daisy penitently, 44 I forgot. 
But can’t I drive you back ? ” 

44 I couldn’t trouble you to do that. You’re not 
going back so soon ? ” 

44 But of course I can, Mr. Norburn ; it’s so far 
to walk.” 

44 1 don’t mind the walk.” 

44 Are you really quite sure ? It is a beautiful 
morning to be out, isn’t it ? ” 

Norburn took his leave, thinking, no doubt, of 
his official duties and nothing else, and Daisy 
touched her pony. 

44 1 must go on,” she said. 

44 So must I,” said Dick, 44 mustn’t keep my 
horse standing any longer.” 

60 


A COMMON SPECTACLE 


<4 Why not ? He can’t catch cold to-day.” 

“ Oh, he'd take root and never go away — just as 
I do, when 1 stand near you, you know.” 

it is not proposed to set out the rest of their con- 
versation. Daisy forgot Norburn’s gloomy face, 
Dick forgot every face but Daisy’s, and the usual 
things were said and done. An appeal to the 
memory of any reader will probably give a result 
accurate enough. Imagine yourself on a pretty 
morning, in a pretty place, by a pretty girl, and let 
her be kind and you not a numskull, and there’s 
half-a-dozen pages saved. 

It was, however, a little unfortunate that, at the 
last moment, when the third good bye was being 
said, Lady Eynesford should come whirling by in 
her barouche. 

44 The deuce ! ” said Dick under his breath. 

Lady Eynesford’s features did not relax. She 
bowed to her brother-in-law gravely and stiffly ; 
her gaze appeared to travel far over the top of the 
low pony-carriage which contained Daisy Medland. 
Dick flushed with vexation. True, the Governor’s 
wife did not yet know the Premier’s daughter, but 
she need not have insisted on the fact so ostenta- 
tiously. Dick turned to his companion. She was 
laughing. 

“Why are you laughing?” he asked, rather 
offended. A man seldom likes to be thought to 
value the opinion of the women of his family, 
valuable as it always is. 

“You know very well,” she answered. “Oh, I 
dare say I’ve got into trouble too.” 

“ I don’t care,” said Dick valiantly. 

“ Neither do I — at least, not much.” 

44 1 don’t see how you can have got into trouble.” 

61 


HALF A HERO 


44 Ah, perhaps you don’t see everything, Mr. 
Derosne.” 

44 1 say, you don’t mean that Mr. ? ” 

44 Good-bye,” said Daisy, whipping up her pony. 

Dick was left wondering what she had meant, 
and whether anything so preposterous and revolt- 
ing as the idea of Norburn having any business to 
control her doings or her likings could possibly 
have any truth in it. And, as a natural result of 
this disturbing notion, he determined to see her 
again as soon as he could. 


CHAPTER Vin 


FOR THE HIGHEST BIDDER 

Shepherdstown, the spot where Mr. Benham said 
that his was a respected name — and he said quite 
truly, for he had managed to pay his debts as they 
fell due, and nothing was known against his char- 
acter — lay in Puttock’s constituency, and Benham 
thought it well to call upon his representative. 
The only secret part of his enterprise had been 
transacted with the Premier in Digby Square : for 
the rest, a plausible overtness of action was plainly 
desirable. He obtained an interview with Put- 
tock, and laid before him his hopes and his qualifi- 
cations. Mr. Puttock was graciousness itself; he 
remembered, with gratitude and surprising alacrity, 
his visitor’s local services to the party ; had he been 
still in office, it would have been his delight no less 
than his duty to press Benham’s incontestable 
claims ; he would have felt that he was merely 
paying a small part of the debt he owed Shep- 
herdstown and one of its leading men, and would, 
at the same time, have enjoyed the conviction that 
he was enlisting in the public service a man of 
tried integrity and ability. 

“ Unhappily, however,” said Mr. Puttock, spread- 
ing out his plump hands in pathetic fashion, “ as 
you might conjecture, Mr. — ” he glanced at the 
visitor’s card — “ Benham, my influence at the pres- 
ent juncture is less than nit 1 am powerless. I 
can only look on at what I conceive to be a course 
63 


HALF A HERO 


of conduct fraught with peril to the true interests 
of New Lindsey, and entirely inconsistent with the 
best traditions of our party.” 

44 Your views are heartily shared at home,” re- 
sponded Benham. 44 Speaking in confidence, I can 
assure you of that, sir. Our confidence in the 
Ministry ended when you retired.” 

44 As long as my constituents approve of my 
action, I am content. But I am grieved not to 
be able to help you.” 

44 But, in spite of present differences, surely your 
good word would carry weight. My name is, I 
believe, already before the Premier, and if it was 
backed by your support ” 

44 Let me recommend you,” said Puttock sourly, 
44 to try to obtain Mr. Norburn’s good word. That 
is, between ourselves, all-powerful.’ * 

Benham frowned. 

44 Norburn ! Much Norburn would do for me.” 

44 Why, does he know you ? ” asked Puttock. 
44 Have you any quarrel with him ? ” 

44 There’s no love lost between us. He organised 
my shearers when they struck two years ago.” 

44 What are you ? ” 

44 Sheep, sir. The fellow came down and fought 
me, and — w r ell, sir, he said things about me that 
you’d hardly credit.” 

44 Oh, I hope,” said Puttock earnestly, 44 that that 
would not influence his judgment. But, to be 
frank — well, it’s common knowledge that Mr. 
Norburn and I found we could not w T ork together.” 

44 But surely, sir, the Premier will take his own 
line? ” 

44 1 don’t know. As likely as not, Norburn will 
have some Labour man to press.” 

64 


FOR THE HIGHEST BIDDER 


“Ah, if we could see you at the head of the 
Government ! ” 

“ I don’t deny that I am deeply disappointed 
with the Premier’s course of action — so deeply 
that I can give him no support.” 

Mr. Benham remained silent for a minute, medi- 
tating. He perceived that, in case Medland proved 
unreasonable, a second string lay ready to his hand. 
He wondered how much Puttock already knew — 
and what he would pay for more knowledge. The 
worst of it was that Puttock had the reputation 
of being an uncommonly good hand at a bar- 
gain. 

“Yet Mr. Medland’s a very clever man,” he 
observed. 

“ Oh, clever, yes ; but I fear unstable, Mr. 
Benham.” 

“ I suppose so. After all a man’s private life 
is some guide, isn’t it? ” 

“ Some guide ! ” exclaimed Puttock. “ Surely 
you understate the case. If a man’s private life is 
discreditable ” 

“ But would you go so far as that about the 
Premier ? ” inquired Benham, with a pained air. 

“ There’s no smoke without fire, I’m afraid. It’s 
a painful subject, and of course only a matter of 
rumour, but ” 

“ You see, I’ve been living in the country, and 
I’m not up in all that’s said here.” 

“ I wouldn’t mention it to everybody, but to you I 
may venture. According to the report among those 
in a position to know, there was the gravest doubt 
as to the regularity of — his domestic relations.” 

“ Dear, dear ! ” 

“ Nothing, as I say, is known or could, probably, 
65 


HALF A HERO 


be proved. It would damage him most seriously 
of course, if that sort of thing were proved.” 

“ I should think so indeed. He could hardly 
remain where he is.” 

“I don’t know. Well, perhaps not. A little 
while ago I should have deeply regretted anything 
calculated to lessen his influence, but now — well, 
well, we shall see.” 

“ Your secession has so weakened him that he 
couldn’t stand up against it,” said Benham, with 
conviction. “And then — why, we might have a 
real leader.” 

Mr. Benham’s admiring gaze left no doubt as to 
the heaven-sent leader who was in his mind, and 
he had the satisfaction of detecting a gleam of 
eagerness in Mr. Puttock’s eye. 

“ He may be of use to me, if Medland kicks,” 
reflected Benham as he walked away. But he 
hoped that the Premier would not prove recalci- 
trant. He had counted on the sufficiency of threats, 
and it would be an annoyance if he were forced to 
resort to action ; for he could not deny that his 
respected name would suffer some stain in the 
process of inflicting punishment, if the victim chose 
to declare the terms on which the chastisement 
might have been averted. 

Now this aspect of the case had presented itself 
to Medland also, reinforcing the considerations 
which weighed against giving Benham the appoint- 
ment he sought. The Premier hated yielding, and 
he hated jobs : Benham asked him to acknowledge 
himself beaten, and, as ransom, to perpetrate a 
peculiarly dirty job. At most times of his life he 
would not even have looked at such a proposal, 
but his new- won position, with its possibilities and 
66 


FOR THE HIGHEST BIDDER 


its risks, made him timid : he was fearful as a child 
of anything that would jeopardise what he had so 
hardly and narrowly achieved ; and this unwonted 
mood increased his dread of Benham’s disclosures 
to an almost superstitious terror. Under the in- 
fluence of this feeling, he was so far false to his 
standard of conduct as tentatively to mention 
Benham’s name to Norburn as that of a possible 
candidate for the vacant post. He expected to 
hear in reply nothing more than a surprised in- 
quiry as to the man’s claims, but Norburn, de- 
spite his faithfulness to every wish of his leader’s, 
besought him earnestly to make no such choice. 

“You don’t know about him,” he said; “but in 
his own neighbourhood he’s known far and wide 
as a hard employer and a determined enemy of 
the Unions. Such an appointment would do us 
immense harm.” 

“ I didn’t know that. You’re sure ? ” 

“ I believe it might cost us a dozen votes. I 
couldn’t defend the choice myself. I fought him 
once, and I know all about him. Who recom- 
mended him to you ? ” 

“ No one. He came himself.” 

Norburn laughed. 

“ It needs some assurance,” he remarked, “ for a 
man with his record to come to you. He must 
have known that I could tell you all about him.” 

The Premier smiled : to tell him all about Ben- 
ham was exactly what his zealous young colleague 
could not do. 

“ Then it’s quite out of the question ? ” he asked. 

“ If you take my opinion, quite. ” 

The Premier gave a sigh of relief. He was glad 
to have the matter settled for him, and to be saved 
67 


HALF A HERO 


from the temptation that had been besetting him 
these ten days past. 

44 The fellow must be mad to expect such a 
thing,” continued Norburn. 44 Why doesn’t he go 
to the other side ? ” 

44 Perhaps he will now,” answered Medland. It 
seemed not at all unlikely. 

When his mind was finally made up, Medland 
found at first a reckless pleasure in, as he expressed 
it to himself, 4 4 chancing it. ” He had always been 
fond of a fight against odds. The odds were 
against him here, and the stakes perilously high. 
His spirits rose ; his mouth was set firm, and his 
eyes gleamed as they had gleamed when the crowd 
led him in triumph to his house three weeks ago. 
The battle was to begin to-morrow ; the House 
met then, and all his foes, public and private, would 
close round him and his band of friends. And, 
when the fresh attack had been delivered, how 
many would his friends be ? Rousing himself, he 
got up. 

44 You stay with Daisy,” he said to Norburn. 44 1 
must go out for an hour.” 

It was nine o’clock, and he made his way swiftly 
to the address which Benham had given him. He 
found that gentleman in a quiet and respectable 
lodging, and was received with civility. 

44 You are just to your time,” said Benham. 

44 I’m not behind it. I had till to-morrow.” 

44 And you have brought the appointment? ” 

44 No.” 

44 The promise of it, then? ” 

44 No ; I can’t do it.” 

44 Why not ? ” 

44 Well, I don’t know why I should tell you, but 

68 


FOR THE HIGHEST BIDDER 


for two good reasons — it’s difficult and it’s dirty. 
Difficult because you’re not popular with my 
friends — dirty, because — but you know that.” 

“ You really mean to refuse ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Then what are you going to do for me ? ” 

“ I can’t do anything for you.” 

“ That’s final ? ” asked Benham, facing him 
squarely. “You utterly refuse to do me a small 
favour, though you were ready enough to ruin my 

Medland was doubtful if he had ruined the 
man’s life, but he only answered — 

“ I can’t job you into anything. That’s what 
you want, and it’s what I can’t do for you.” 

“ Very well. I’ve got a thing of value, haven’t 
I ? W ell, I shall sell it to the highest bidder. 
Ay, and I tell you what, James Medland, I’ll be 
level with you before I die, God help me I will ! 
You shall be sorry for this, before I’ve done with 
you.” 

“ I take the chance of that. If you’re in want, 
I’ll supply you with money, as far as my means 
allow.” 

“Your means? What are they? You won’t 
have your salary long, if I can help it. I think I 
can find a better market, thank you.” 

Medland turned on his heel. He had come with 
a vague idea of trying in some way to smooth over 
matters between them. It was plainly impossible ; 
he had no wish to bribe, and, if he had, clearly he 
could not bribe high enough. He was still in his 
confident mood, and Benham’s rude threats roused 
him to defiance. 

“ Have it your own way,” he said ; “ but people 

69 


HALF A HERO 


who attack me in Kirton run some risks,” and he 
went out with a smile on his face. 

As he strolled home again, his exultant temper 
left him. The springiness of his step relaxed into 
a slouching gait, and his head fell forward. He 
stopped and turned half round, as though to go 
back; then, with a sigh, he held on his way. Far 
off, he could see the twinkling lights of ships, and, 
in the still of evening, catch the roll of the sea as it 
broke on the beach, and an odd fancy came over 
him of sailing far away with his daughter over the 
sea — or, perhaps better still, of walking quietly into 
the water until it closed over his head. Now and 
then he grew tired of fighting, and to him life was 
all fighting now. 

44 Meditating new resolutions, Medland? ” asked 
a cheery voice at his side. 

Turning with a start, he saw the Chief Justice, 
who continued, 

44 You’ll be in the thick of it to-morrow, I 
suppose ? ” 

44 1 have left off thinking where I shall be to- 
morrow,” he answered. 44 To-day is enough for a 
Minister.” 

44 And to-morrow may be too much ? Young 
Heseltine offered just now to lay me six to five 
you’d be out in a month.” 

44 Confound him ! Who is he? ” 

44 One of the Governor’s young fellows. 

44 Oh, yes, I remember.” 

44 Talking of that, I had some very kind inquiries 
about you at Government House to-day.” 

44 Ah ! ” 

44 From Miss Derosne. She’s a warm admirer of 
yours, and really a most charming girl. Well, 
70 


FOR THE HIGHEST BIDDER 


good-night. I shall try and get down to hear 
your statement to-morrow.” 

Sir John bustled off, leaving the Premier with a 
new bent of thought. In his mind he rehearsed his 
interview with Alicia Derosne, wondering, as men 
wonder after they have been carried away by emo- 
tion into unrestrained disclosures of their hearts, 
whether she had really been impressed ; whether, 
after all, he had not been, or seemed, insincere, 
theatrical, or absurd ; wondering again in what 
light she would look on him, when she knew what 
it looked likely all Kirton would know soon ; won- 
dering last whether, if he had not met the woman 
who had been his partner in life for so long, and 
had, in youth, met such a girl as Alicia Derosne, 
his fate would have been different, and he need not 
now have trembled at his story being told. Im- 
mersed in thought he wandered on, out of the town 
and down to the shores of the bay, and checked 
himself, with a sudden laugh, only on the very 
brink of the sea. The absurdity struck him ; he 
laughed again, as he lit a cigar and rebuked him- 
self aloud. 

“ Here I am, a Premier and forty-one! and I’m 
going on for all the world like a cross between a 
love-sick boy and a runaway criminal ! ” 

He paused and added, 

“ And the worst of it, I am rather like a criminal 
and ” 

He paused abruptly. A thought struck him 
and made him frown angrily at his folly. It was 
stupid to think of himself as love-sick, even in jest. 
He had not come to that. And to think of him- 
self as a lover was not a thought that carried pleas- 
ant memories to Mr. Medland. 

71 


CHAPTER IX 


TWO HASTY UTTERANCES 

“ Thank God, there’s the Legislative Council, any- 
how ! ” exclaimed Mr. Kilshaw. 

Sir Robert Perry pursed up his lips. He had 
fought with that safeguard of stability behind him 
once or twice before, and the end had been defeat. 
There were better things than the support of the 
Legislative Council. 

“ I’d rather, ” he remarked, “ have a dissolution 
and a thumping campaign fund. If I’d known 
they were at sixes and sevens like this, I’d have 
taken the Governor’s offer.” 

“ Hum,” said Mr. Kilshaw, who would be ex- 
pected to subscribe largely to the suggested fund. 
“ But how do you propose to get your dissolution 
now? Besides, I believe he’d beat us.” 

“That would depend on Puttock — and one or 
two more.” 

“ What did you think of Puttock’s explanation ? ” 

“The whole performance reminded me of a 
highly religious rattlesnake : it was a magnificent 
struggle against natural venom.” 

“ I thought it very creditable.” 

“ Oh, I suppose so : it would be, if you think of 
it, in the snake. But Medland will be replying 
soon. Come along.” 

They hurried into the House, and found the 
Premier already on his legs. The floor and the 
galleries were crowded, and the space allotted to 
72 


TWO HASTY UTTERANCES 


ladies — there was no grating in New Lindsey, as 
Eleanor Scaife had already recorded in her note- 
book — was bright with gay colours. Sir Robert 
and Mr. Kilshaw slipped into their places just in 
time to see Medland stoop down to Norburn, who 
sat next him, and whisper to him. Norburn nod- 
ded with a defiant air, and Medland, with a slight 
frown, proceeded. The Premier had no easy task. 
Puttock had fallen on his flank with skill and effect, 
and Norburn, who followed, had increased his lead- 
er’s difficulties by a brilliant but indiscreet series of 
tilts against every section except that to which he 
himself belonged ; Jewell had answered powerfully, 
and Coxon had coughed and fidgeted. The Pre- 
mier was now skilfully paring away what his lieu- 
tenant had said, and justifying every proposition he 
advanced by a reference to Mr. Puttock’s previous 
speeches. Mr. Puttock, in his turn, fidgeted, and 
Coxon smiled sardonically. The Premier, encour- 
aged by this success, pulled himself together and 
approached the last and most delicate part of his 
task, which was to defend or palliate a phrase of 
Norburn’s that had been greeted with angry groans 
and protests. Mr. Norburn had in fact referred to 
the Capitalist class as a “ parasitic growth,” and 
Medland was left to get out of this indiscretion as 
best he could. He referred to the unhappy phrase. 
The storm which had greeted its first appearance 
broke out again. There were cries of “With- 
draw ! ” Mr. Kilshaw called out, “ Do you adopt 
that? Yes or no;” Norburn’s followers cheered; 
redoubled groans answered them ; Eleanor made 
notes, and Alicia’s eyes were fixed on Medland, 
who stood silent and smiling. 

Kilshaw cried again, “ Do you adopt it ? ” 

73 


HALF A HERO 


Medland turned toward him, and in slow and 
measured tones began to describe a visit he had 
paid to Kilshaw’s mill. He named no name, but 
everybody knew to whose works he referred. 

“ There was a man there,” he said, “ working 
with a fever upon him ; there was a woman work- 
ing — and by her, her baby, five days old ; there 
were old men who looked to no rest but the grave, 
and children who were always too tired to play ; 
there were girls without innocence, boys without 
merriment, women without joy, men without hope. 
And, as I walked home in the evening, back to my 
house, I met a string of race-horses ; they were in 
training, I was told, for the Ivirton Cup ; their 
owner spent, they said, ten thousand pounds a year 
on his stables. Their owner, Sir, owned the mill 
— and them that worked there.” 

He paused, and then, with a gesture unusual in 
that place, he laid his hand on Norburn’s shoulder, 
and went on in a tone of gentle apology : 

“ What wonder if men with hot hearts and young 
heads use hard words ? What wonder if they con- 
found the bad with the good ? Yes, what wonder 
if, once again, good and bad shall fall in a common 
doom ? ” 

He sat down suddenly, still keeping his hand on 
his young colleague’s shoulder, and Sir Robert rose 
and prayed leave to say a few words in reference to 
the — he seemed to pause for a word — the remark- 
able utterance which had fallen from the Premier. 
Sir Robert’s rapier flashed to and fro, now in grave 
indignation, now in satirical jest, and, at the end, 
he rose almost to eloquence in bidding the Premier 
remember the responsibility such words, spoken by 
such a man, carried with them. 


TWO HASTY UTTERANCES 


“You may say,” said Sir Robert, “that to 
prophesy revolution is not to justify it — that to ex- 
cuse violence is not to advocate it. Ignorant men 
reck little of wire-drawn distinctions, and I am 
glad, Sir — I say, I am glad that not on my head 
rests the weight of such wild words and open 
threats as we have heard to-day. For my head is 
grey, and I must soon give an account of what I 
have done.” 

The debate ended, leaving the general impression 
that the Government stood committed to a policy 
which some called thorough and some dangerous. 
Mr. Kilshaw, passing Puttock in the lobby, re- 
marked, 

“You’ll have some fine opportunities for your 
‘ independent and discriminating support,’ Puttock, 
and I hope your banking account will be the fatter 
for it.” 

Puttock made a slight grimace, and Kilshaw 
smiled complacently. He had great hopes of 
Puttock, and was pleased when the latter re- 
marked, 

“ By the way, Kilshaw, here’s a friend of mine 
who’s anxious to know you,” and he introduced his 
influential constituent, Mr. Benham of Shepherds- 
town. The three men stood talking together and 
saw Medland pass by. Kilshaw, assuming Benham 
loved the Premier no more than Mr. Puttock, re- 
marked, 

“I’d give something handsome to see that fellow 
smashed.” 

“Would you ? ” asked Benham, with an eager 
smile ; Kilshaw promised him a better opening 
than Puttock. He stepped across to Medland, 
raising his hat. 

6 


75 


HALF A HERO 


“A moment, Mr. Medland. You have not 
changed your mind on that little matter ? ” 

44 The appointment was made this morning,” re- 
plied Medland, somewhat surprised to see him in 
the lobby. 

44 1 am here with Mr. Puttock,” said Benham, 
answering his look, 44 and Mr. Kilshaw.” 

Medland smiled. 

44 The appointment is made all the same,” he re- 
marked. 

Benham bowed and returned to his friends. The 
Premier, seeing Eleanor and Alicia in front of him, 
overtook and joined them. 

44 Are you walking home ? ” he asked. 

44 Mr. Coxon is escorting us, ” answered Eleanor, 
indicating that gentleman, who was walking with 
them. 

Perhaps Mr. Coxon in his day-dreams looked 
forward to the time when he should fight the 
Premier for his place and defeat him. He did not 
expect to have to fight with him for a position by 
a girl’s side. Nevertheless he found, to his chagrin, 
that Medland did not pair off with Eleanor Scaife, 
but continued to walk by and talk to Alicia. 
Being a man of much assurance, he hazarded a 
protesting glance at Alicia : she met it with an im- 
possible intensity of unconsciousness, and Eleanor 
maliciously opened fire upon him out of the bat- 
teries with which Tomes supplied her, at the same 
time quickening her pace and compelling him to 
leave the others behind. 

Alicia glanced up at Medland. 

44 1 thought of what you said the other night all 
the time,” she began ; 44 but you did not say it so 
well to-day.” 


76 


TWO HASTY UTTERANCES 


“ Ah, you remember the other night ? ” 

“You were bold and straightforward then. I 
thought — I thought you fenced with it a little 
to-day.” 

“ I’m not used to be charged with that.” 

“ I suppose it was only by comparison.” 

“Yes. And nobody but you could make the 
comparison.” 

“ I shall always like best to remember you by 
what you said then.” 

“ Ah, I had to please so many people to-day. 
The other night I didn’t think of pleasing any one 
— not even you ! But I hope it’s not coming to 
‘ remembering ’ me yet. You’re not going to leave 
us?” 

“ W e’re only birds of passage, you know. My 
brother’s term will be up in fifteen months now.” 

“Well, Miss Derosne, I’m afraid fifteen months 
are likely enough to see an end of most of the 
dreams I talked about to you.” 

“No, no,” she exclaimed eagerly. Then check- 
ing herself she added, “ But what right have I to 
talk to you about it ? ” 

“ I talked to you.” 

“ Oh, I happened to be there.” 

“Yes, and so I happened to talk. That’s the 
way when people get on together.” 

Alicia looked up with a smile. Short as her 
acquaintance had been, she felt that the Premier 
was no longer a stranger. By opening his mind to 
her as he had done, he had claimed nothing less 
than friendship. He was, she told herself, like an 
old friend. And yet he was also unlike one; for, 
in intercourse with old friends, people are not sub- 
ject alternately to impulses toward unrestrained 
77 


HALF A HERO 


intimacy and reactions to shy reserve. She liked 
him, but she was afraid of him ; in fine, she was 
hardly happy with him, and not happy — The 
confession could not be finished even to herself. 

“ Shall you be glad to go home, or sorry? ” he 
asked. 

44 Oh, I shall be very sorry.” 

“ Then,” he suggested, smiling, 44 why not stay ? ” 

The question came pat in tune with those 
thoughts that would not be suppressed. Before 
she knew what she was doing — before she had time 
to reflect that probably his words were merely an 
idle civility or the playful suggestion of an impos- 
sibility, she exclaimed, 

44 What do you ? ” 

She stopped suddenly, in horror at herself ; for 
she found him looking at her with surprise, and she 
felt her face flooded with colour. 

4 4 1 beg your pardon ? ” said Medland. 

Full of anger and shame, she could not answer 
him. Without a shadow of excuse — she could not 
find a shadow of excuse — she had read into his 
words a meaning he never thought of. She could 
not now conceive how she had done it. If told the 
like about another, she knew how scornfully severe 
her judgment would have been. He had surprised 
her, caught her unawares, and wrung from her an 
open expression of a wild idea that she had refused 
to recognise even in her own heart. She felt that 
her cheeks were red. W ould the glow that burnt 
her never go ? — and she bit her lips, for she was 
near tears. Oh, that he might not have seen ! Or had 
she committed the sin unpardonable to a girl such 
as she was ? Had she betrayed herself unasked ? 

44 Nothing,” she stammered at last. 44 Nothing.” 

78 


TWO HASTY UTTERANCES 


But she felt the heat still in her cheeks. She 
would have given the world to be able to tell him 
not to look at her ; but she knew his puzzled eyes 
still sought hers, in hope of light. 

He might at least say something ! Silently he 
walked by her side along the road to Government 
House — that endless, endless road. She could not 
speak — and he — she only knew that he did not. 
She felt, by a subtle perception, his glance turned 
on her now and again, but he did not break the 
silence. The strain was too much; in spite of all 
her efforts, in spite of a hatred of her own weak- 
ness that would have made her, for the moment, 
sooner die, a hysterical sob burst from her lips. 

Medland stopped. 

“You must let me go,” he said. “I am very 
busy. You can overtake the others. Good-bye.” 

He held out his hand, and she gave him hers. 
It was kind of him to go and make no words about 
the manner of his going, yet it showed that her des- 
perate hope that he had not noticed was utterly vain. 

“ Good-bye,” she managed to murmur, with 
averted head. 

“ I shall see you again soon,” he said, pressing 
her hand, and was gone. 

In the evening, Lady Eynesford trenchantly 
condemned the ventilation of the Houses of Parlia- 
ment. 

“ The wretched place has given Alicia a head- 
ache. I found the poor child crying with pain. I 
wonder you let her stay, Eleanor.” 

“ I didn’t notice that it was close or hot.” 

“ My dear Eleanor, you’re as strong as a pony,” 
remarked Lady Eynesford. “ A very little thing 
upsets Alicia.” 


79 


CHAPTER X 


THE SMOKE OF HIDDEN FIRES 

“No, I don’t like turn-down collars,” remarked 
Daisy Medland. 

44 I’m very sorry,” said Norburn. 44 You never 
said so before, and they’re so comfortable.” 

44 And why don’t you wear a high hat, and a 
frock-coat ? It looks so much better. Mr. — well, 
Mr. Coxon always does when he goes anywhere in 
the afternoon.” 

44 I didn’t know Coxon was your standard of 
perfection, Daisy. He didn’t use to be in the old 
days.” 

44 Oh, it’s not only Mr. Coxon.” 

44 I know it isn’t,” replied Norburn significantly. 

44 I wonder the Governor lets you come in that 
hat,” continued Daisy, scornfully eyeing Norburn’s 
unconventional headgear. 

44 It’s very like your father’s.” 

44 My father’s not a young man. What would 
you think if the Governor laid foundation-stones 
in a short jacket and a hat like yours ? ” 

4 4 1 should think him a very sensible man.” 

44 Well, I should think him a guy ” said Miss 
Medland, with intense emphasis. 

This method of treating an old friend galled 
Norburn excessively. When anger is in, the brains 
are out. 

44 1 suppose Mr. Derosne is your ideal,” he said. 

Daisy accepted the opening of hostilities with 
alacrity. 


80 


THE SMOKE OF HIDDEN FIRES 


“ He dresses just perfectly,” she remarked, “ and 
he doesn’t bore one with politics.” 

This latter remark was rather shameless, for Daisy 
was generally a keen partisan of her father’s, and 
very ready to listen to anything connected with his 
public doings. 

“ You never used to say that sort of thing to 
me.” 

“ Oh, 4 used ! ’ I believe you’ve said 4 used ’ six 
times in ten minutes ! Am I always to go on talk- 
ing as I used when I was in the nursery ? I say it 
now anyhow, Mr. Nor burn.” 

Norburn took up the despised hat. Looking at 
it now through Daisy’s eyes he could not maintain 
that it was a handsome hat. 

44 It’s your own fault. You began it,” said Daisy, 
stifling a pang of compunction, for she really liked 
him very much, else why should she mind what he 
Wore ? 

44 1 began it ? ” 

44 Yes. By — by dragging in Mr. Derosne.” 

44 1 only mentioned him as an example of fash- 
ionable youth.” 

44 You know you wouldn’t like it if I went about 
in dowdy old things.” 

44 1 don’t mind a bit what you wear. It’s all the 
same to me.” 

44 How very peculiar you are ! ” exclaimed Daisy, 
with a look of compassionate amazement. 44 Most 
people notice what I wear. Oh, and I’ve got a 
charming dress for the flower-show at Government 
House.” 

44 You’re invited, are you ? ” asked Norburn, with 
an ill-judged exhibition of surprise. 

44 Of course I’m invited.” 

81 


HALF A HERO 


“ I’m sorry to hear it.” 

“ Why, pray, Mr. Norburn ? Are you going ? 

“Yes. I suppose I must.” 

“ Not in that hat ! ” implored Daisy. 

“ Certainly/* answered Norburn, though it is 
doubtful if he had in truth intended to do so, but 
for Daisy’s taunts. 

A tragic silence followed. At last, Miss Medland 
exclaimed, 

“ What will Lady Eynesford think of my 
friends ? ” 

“ I didn’t know you cared so much for what Lady 
Eynesford thought. Besides, I need not present 
myself in that character.” 

“ Oh, if you’re going to be disagreeable ! ” 

“ For my part, I’m sorry you’re going at all.” 

“ Thank you. Is that because I shall enjoy it? ” 

“ I don’t care for that sort of society.” 

“ I like it above everything.” 

Matters having thus reached a direct issue, Nor- 
burn clapped the causa belli on his head, and walked 
out of the room, dimly conscious that he had done 
himself as much harm as he possibly could in the 
space of a quarter of an hour. When he grew cool, 
he confessed that the momentary, if real, pleasure 
of being unpleasant was somewhat dearly bought 
at the cost of enmity with Daisy Medland. Indeed 
this unhappy young man, for all that his whole soul 
was by way of being absorbed in reconstructing so- 
ciety, would have thought most things a bad bargain 
at such a price. But his bitterness had been too 
strong. It seemed as though all his devotion, ay, 
and — he did not scruple to say to himself — all 
his real gifts were to weigh as nothing against the 
cut of a coat and the “ sit ” of a cravat — for to such 
82 


THE SMOKE OF HIDDEN FIRES 


elemental constituents his merciless and jealous 
analysis reduced poor Dick Derosne’s attractions. 

Little recked Dick of Norburn’s feelings in the 
glow of his triumph. He was convinced that he 
alone had persuaded Lady Eynesford into including 
Daisy in her invitation to luncheon at the opening 
of the flower-show. It would have been a pity, in 
the mere interests of truth, to interfere with this 
conceit of Dick’s, and Eleanor forbore to disclose 
her own share in the matter, or to hint at that long 
interview between the Governor and his wife. 

“ We shall live to regret it,” said Lady Eynesford, 
“ but it shall be as you wish, Willie.” 

So the Medlands came with the rest of the world 
to the flower-show, and were received with due cer- 
emony and regaled with suitable fare. And after- 
ward the Governor took Daisy for a stroll through 
the tents, and, having thus done his duty hand- 
somely, handed her over to Dick ; but she and Dick 
found the tents stuffy and crowded, and sat down 
under the trees and enjoyed themselves very much, 
until Mr. Puttock espied them and came up to them, 
accompanied by a friend. 

" I hope you’re not very angry with me, Miss 
Daisy?” said Puttock, thinking she might resent 
his desertion of the Premier. 

“ Oh, but I am ! ” said Daisy, and truly enough, 
whatever the reason might be. 

“ Well, you mustn’t visit it on my friend here, 
who is anxious to make your acquaintance. Miss 
Medland — Mr. Benham.” 

Benham sat down and began to make himself 
agreeable. He had a flow of conversation, and 
seemed in no hurry to move. Captain Heseltine 
appeared with a summons for Dick, who sulkily 
83 


HALF A HERO 


obeyed. Puttock caught sight of Jewell, and, 
with an apology, pursued him. Benham sat talk- 
ing to Daisy Medland. Presently he proposed 
they should go where they would see the people 
better, and Daisy, who was bored, eagerly acqui- 
esced. They took a seat by the side of the broad 
gravel walk. 

“ Will no one rescue me ? ” thought Daisy. 

“ He’s bound to pass soon,” thought Benham. 

Benham’s wish was the first to be fulfilled. Be- 
fore long the Premier came in sight, accompanied 
by Coxon. 

“Ah, there’s your daughter,” said the latter. 
“ You were wondering where she was.” 

Medland looked, and saw Daisy and Benham 
sitting side by side. He quickened his pace and 
went up to them. Benham rose and took off his 
hat. Medland ignored him. 

“ I was looking for you, Daisy,” he said. “ I 
want you.” 

Daisy stood up, with relief. 

“ Good-day, Mr. Medland,” said Benham. “ I 
have enjoyed making” (he paused, but barely per- 
ceptibly) “ Miss Medland’s acquaintance.” 

Medland bowed coldly. 

“ Mr. Puttock was good enough to introduce me.” 

“ I am ready, father,” said Daisy. “ Good-bye, 
Mr. Benham.” 

Benham took her offered hand, and, with a smile, 
held it for a moment longer than sufficed for an 
ordinary farewell. Still holding it, he began — 

“ I hope we shall meet often in the future 
and ” 

Medland, in a sudden fit of anger, seized his 
daughter’s arm and drew it away. 

84 


THE SMOKE OF HIDDEN FIRES 


“ I do not desire your acquaintance, sir,” he said, 
in loud, harsh tones, “ for myself or my daughter.” 

Benham smiled viciously; Coxon, who stood 
by, watched the scene closely. 

“Ah!” said Benham, “perhaps not; but you 
know me — and so will she,” and he in his turn 
raised his voice in growing excitement. 

Daisy, frightened at the angry interview, clung 
to Medland’s arm, looking in wonder from him to 
Benham. Some half-dozen people, seeing the 
group, stopped for a moment in curiosity and, 
walking on, cast glances back over their shoulders. 
A lull in the babble of conversation warned Med- 
land, and he looked round. Alicia Derosne was 
passing by in company with the Chief Justice. 
Near at hand stood Kilshaw, watching the en- 
counter with a sneering smile. The Chief Justice 
stepped up to Medland. 

“ What’s the matter ? ” he asked, in a low tone. 

“ Nothing,” said Medland. “ Only I do not wish 
my daughter to talk to this gentleman.” 

The contempt of his look and tone goaded Ben- 
ham to fury. 

“ I don’t care what you wish,” he exclaimed. “ I 
have as good a right as anybody to talk to the 
young lady, considering that she’s ” 

Before he could finish his sentence, Kilshaw 
darted up to him, and caught him by the arm. 

“Not yet, you fool,” he whispered, drawing the 
angry man away. 

Benham yielded, and Kilshaw caught Medland’s 
look of surprise. 

“ Come, Mr. Benham,” he said aloud, “ you and 
Mr. Medland must settle your differences, if you 
have any, elsewhere.” 


85 


HALF A HERO 

Medland glanced sharply at him, but accepted 
the cue. 

“ You are right,” he said. “ Come, Daisy,” and 
he walked away with his daughter on his arm, while 
Kilshaw led Benham off in the opposite direction, 
talking to him urgently in a low voice. Benham 
shook his head again and again in angry protest, 
seeming to ask why he had not been allowed his 
own way. 

The group of people passed on, amid inquiries 
who Benham was, and conjectures as to the cause 
of the Premiers anger. 

“ Now what in the world,” asked Sir John, fitting 
his pince-nez more securely on his nose, “ do you 
make of that, Miss Derosne ? ” 

Sir John thought that he was addressing an in- 
different spectator, and Alicia’s manner did not un- 
deceive him. 

“ How should I know, Sir John ? It must have 
been politics.” 

“ They wouldn’t talk politics here — and, if 
they did, Medland would not quarrel about 
them.” 

“ Did you hear what he said, Chief Justice ?” 
asked Coxon. 

“ Yes, I heard.” 

“ Curious, isn’t it ? ” 

“ It’s most tantalisingly curious,” said Sir John. 

“ But, all the same, we mustn’t forget the 
flowers,” remarked Alicia, with affected gaiety. 

They moved on, and the onlookers, still canvass- 
ing the incident, scattered their various ways. 

It was Coxon who told Lady Eynesford about 
it afterward, and her comment to the Governor 
that evening at dinner was, 

86 


THE SMOKE OF HIDDEN FIRES 


“ There, Willie ! Didn’t I tell you something 
horrid would come of having those people ? ” 

No one answered her. The Governor knew 
better than to encourage a discussion. Dick swore 
softly under his breath at Coxon, and Alicia began 
to criticise Lady Perry’s costume. Lady Eynes- 
ford followed up her triumph. 

“ I hope all you Medlandites are satisfied now,” 
she said. 

And Lady Eynesford was not the only person 
who found some satisfaction in this unfortunate 
incident, for when Daisy told Norburn about it, 
he remarked, with an extraordinary want of reason, 

44 I knew you’d be sorry you went.” 

“ I’m not at all sorry,” protested Daisy. 44 But 
why was father angry ? ” 

44 I’m sure I don’t know. Didn’t he tell you ? ” 

“ No.” 

44 Oh, I recollect. This Benham has been wor- 
rying him about some appointment.” 

44 That doesn’t account for his saying that he had 
as good a right as anybody to talk to me. I don’t 
understand it.” 

44 Well, neither do I. But you would go.” 

44 Really, you’re too absurd,” said Daisy pettishly. 

And poor Norburn knew that he was very absurd, 
and yet could not help being very absurd, although 
he despised himself for it. 

The real truth was that Daisy had told him that, 
except for this one occurrence, she had had a most 
charming afternoon, and that Dick Derosne had 
been kindness itself. 

This was enough to make even a rising statesman 
angry, and, when angry, absurd. 


87 


CHAPTER XI 


A CONSCIENTIOUS MAN’S CONSCIENCE 

A very few hours after its occurrence, the scene 
at the flower-show was regretted by all who took 
part in it. Medland realised the foolishness of his 
indiscretion and want of temper ; Benham was 
afraid that he might have set inquiring minds on 
the track of game which he wished to hunt down 
for himself; Kilshaw was annoyed at having been 
forced into such an open display of his relations 
with and his influence over Benham. Even to 
himself, his dealings with the man were a delicate 
subject. Almost every one has one or two matters 
which he would rather not discuss with his own 
conscience; and his bargain with Benham was one 
of these tabooed topics to Kilshaw. For, in spite 
of what he had done in this instance, he belonged 
to a class which some righteous and superior peo- 
ple will have it does not exist. He was a consci- 
entious politician — a man who, in the main, was 
honest and straightforward ; prone indeed to think 
that what he had was necessarily identical with 
what he ought to have, and that any law not based 
on a recognition of this fact was an iniquitous law, 
but loyal to his friends, his class, his party, and his 
country ; ready to spend and work for his own 
rights’ sake, but no niggard of time or money in 
larger causes ; sincere in his convictions, dauntless 
in affirming and upholding them, hardly conceiving 
that honest men could differ from them ; strong in 
88 


CONSCIENTIOUS MANS CONSCIENCE 


his self-confidence, believing that the best men al- 
ways won, suspecting from the bottom of his heart 
every appeal to sentiment in the mouth of a poli- 
tician. Such he was — a type of the man of success, 
with the hardness that success is apt to bring, but 
with the virtues that attain it ; and his defects and 
merits had made him, for years past, Sir Robert 
Perry’s most valued lieutenant, and a very pillar of 
the cautious conservative ideas on which that states- 
man’s influence was based. 

And now Mr. Kilshaw, impelled less by mere 
self-interest than by the rankling of a personal 
feud, had — dipped the end of his fingers in pitch. 
He had resented fiercely Medland’s hardly dis- 
guised attack on him, and it had fanned into flame 
the wrath which the Premier’s schemes, threat- 
ening the profits of himself and his fellow-cap- 
italists, and the Premier’s principles, redolent to 
his nostrils of the quackery and hypocrisy that he 
hated, had set alight in his heart. Against such a 
man and such a policy, was not everything fair? 
Was it not even fair to use a tool like Benham, if 
the tool put itself in his hand ? 

Yet he was ashamed; but, being in secret 
ashamed, he, as men often do, set his face and went 
on his way all the more obstinately. 

He bought Mr. Benham, Mr. Benham and his 
secret; they were heartily at his disposal, for he 
could pay a better price than Puttock could ; and 
he laid them by in his arsenal, for use, he carefully 
added to himself, only in the very last emergency. 

“ Not yet, you fool! ’’ he had whispered to his 
tool in anger and alarm. The tool did not know 
how dirty it seemed to the hand that was to use 
it, and yet shrank from using it until the very last. 

89 


HALF A HERO 


But if it came to the very last — why, he would use 
it ; and Mr. Kilshaw inspected the pitch on the end 
of his fingers, and almost convinced himself that it 
was not pitch at all. 

Yet was this “ very last ” very far off? Since the 
flower-show, the Premier was displaying feverish 
activity. He was like a man who is stricken by 
mortal sickness, but has some work that he must 
finish before the time comes when he can do no 
more work, and know no more joy in the work he 
has done. Bill after bill was introduced embody- 
ing his schemes, and the popular praise of him and 
enthusiasm rose higher and higher at the sight of a 
minister doing, or at least attempting, all and more 
than he promised. The Ministry was worked to 
death ; the Governor was apprehensive and uneasy ; 
Capital was, as Kilshaw had said, alarmed; only 
Sir Robert Perry smiled, as he remarked to the 
Chief Justice at the Club, 

“ It can’t last. His own men won’t swallow all 
this. Medland must be mad to try it.” 

“ Perhaps,” suggested Sir John, “ he doesn’t mean 
business. He may only want a strong platform to 
dissolve on.” 

“ Riding for a fall, eh ? ” 

“ I shouldn’t wonder.” 

“ My experience is,” observed Captain Hesel- 
tine, looking up from the Stud Book , “ that chaps 
who ride for a fall come more unholy crumplers 
than anybody else.” 

“ I hope you’re right,” said Sir Robert, with a 
smile. 

And they discussed the matter with much acu- 
men, and would doubtless have arrived at a true 
conclusion, had they known anything about the 
90 


CONSCIENTIOUS MANS CONSCIENCE 


matter. But, as it happened, they were all igno- 
rant of the real reason which dictated Medland’s 
conduct. He had gauged the character of his 
most uncompromising and powerful enemy to a 
nicety. He knew that Kilshaw would be loth to 
make use of Benham, and yet that he would make 
use of him. He saw that the danger which 
threatened him had become great and immediate. 
A stronger hand and a longer purse than Ben- 
ham’s were now against him. The chase had 
begun. He could not expect much law, and he 
was riding, not for a fall, but against time. He 
did not despair of escape, but the chances were 
against him. He must cover as much ground as 
he could before the pack was on his heels. So he 
brought in his bills, made his speeches, fluttered 
the dovecote of many a prejudice and many an 
interest, was the idol of the people, and never had 
a quiet hour. 

Besides its more serious effects, the Premier’s 
absorption in public affairs had the result of blind- 
ing him to the change that had gradually been 
coming over his own house. Norburn had always 
been in and out every hour ; he was in and out 
still, but now he came straight from the street 
door to the Premier’s room, and went straight 
back thence to the street door again. The visits 
to Daisy, which had been wont to precede and 
follow, perhaps even sometimes to occasion, busi- 
ness conferences, ceased almost entirely ; and the 
young Minister’s brow bore a weight of care that 
the precarious position of the Cabinet was not 
alone enough to account for. It would seem as if 
Daisy must have noticed Norburn’s altered ways, 
although her father did not ; but she made no 
7 91 


HALF A HERO 


reference to them, and appeared to be aware of 
nothing which called for explanation or remark. 
Perhaps she missed Norburn’s visits less because 
his place was so often filled by Hick Derosne, who, 
unable to find, or perhaps scorning, any pretext 
of business, came with the undisguised object 
of seeing the Premier’s daughter, and not the 
Premier. 

Whatever differences Eleanor Scaife and other 
studious inquirers may discover between young 
communities and old, it is safe to say that there 
are many points of resemblance: one of them is 
that, in both, folk talk a good deal about their 
neighbour’s affairs. The stream of gossip, which 
Hick’s indiscreet behaviour at Sir John Oakapple’s 
dance had set a-flowing, was not diminished in 
current by his subsequent conduct. Some people 
believed that he was merely amusing himself, and 
were very much or very little shocked according 
to their temperaments and their views on such 
matters ; others, with great surprise and regret, 
were forced to believe him serious, and wondered 
what he could be thinking of ; a third class took 
the line sanctioned by the eminent authority of 
Mr. Tomes, and hailed the possibility of a union of 
more than private importance. Such a diversity 
of opinion powerfully promoted the interchange of 
views, and very soon there were but few people in 
Kirton society, outside the two households most 
concerned, who were not watching the progress of 
the affair. 

The circulating eddies of report at last reached 
Mr. Kilshaw, soon after he had, by his bargain 
with Benham, been put in possession of the facts 
that gentleman had to dispose of. Kilshaw knew 
92 


CONSCIENTIOUS MAN’S CONSCIENCE 


Dick Derosne very well, and for a time he re- 
mained quiet, expecting to see Dick’s zeal slacken 
and his infatuation cease of their own accord. When 
the opposite happened, Ivilshaw’s anger was stirred 
within him ; he was ready to find, and in con- 
sequence at once found, a new sin and a fresh 
cause of offence in the Premier. Without con- 
sidering that Medland had many things to do 
besides watching the course of flirtations or the 
development of passions, he hastily concluded that 
he had come upon another scheme and detected 
another manoeuvre intended to strengthen the 
Premier’s exposed position. He appreciated the 
advantage that such an alliance would be to a 
man threatened with the kind of revelation which 
menaced Medland ; it was clear to his mind that 
Medland had appreciated it too, and had laid a 
cunning trap for Dick’s innocent feet. It did not 
suit him to produce yet the public explosion which 
he destined for his enemy ; but he lost no time in 
determining to checkmate this last ingenious move 
by some private communication which would put 
Dick — or perhaps better still, Dick’s friends — on 
guard. 

Mr. Dick Derosne perhaps was not unaware that 
many people in Kirton frowned on him as an un- 
principled deceiver, or, at best, a fickle light-o’- 
love ; he would have been much more surprised, 
and also more displeased, to know that there was 
even one who thought of him as a deluded inno- 
cent, and had determined to rescue him from the 
snares which were set for his destruction. He did 
not feel like a deluded innocent. He was not sure 
how he did feel. Perhaps he also, as well as the 
man who was preparing to rescue him, had a sub- 
93 


HALF A HERO 


ject which did not bear too much or too candid 
inward discussion ; and he found it easier to stifle 
any attempt at importunity on the part of his 
conscience than Kilshaw did. Ivilshaw could only 
appeal to the paramount interests of the public 
welfare as an excuse for his own doubtful dealing : 
Dick could and did look into Daisy Medland’s 
eyes and forget that there was any need or oc- 
casion for excuse at all. Supposing she were fond 
of him — and he could not suppose anything else 
— what did he mean to do ? Many people asked 
that question, but Dick Derosne himself was not 
among them. He knew that he would be very 
sorry to lose her, that she was the chief reason 
now why he found Kirton a pleasant place of 
residence, and that he resented very highly any 
other man venturing to engross her conversation. 
Beyond that he did not go ; but the state of mind 
which these feelings indicated was no doubt quite 
enough to justify Kilshaw in deciding to have re- 
course to the Governor, and allow his message to 
Dick to filter through one who had more right 
than he had to offer counsel. 

In a matter like this, to determine was to do. 
He got on his horse and rode through the Park 
toward Government House. In the Park he met 
Captain Heseltine, also mounted and looking very 
hot. The Captain mopped his face, and waved an 
accusing arm toward an inhospitable eucalyptus. 

“ Call that a tree ! ” he said. “ The beastly 
thing doesn’t give a ha’porth of shade.” 

“Its the best we’ve got,” replied Kilshaw, in 
ironical apology for his country. 

“ As a rule, you know,” the Captain continued, 
“ coming out for a ride here, except at midnight, 
94 


CONSCIENTIOUS MAN S CONSCIENCE 

means standing up under a willow and wondering 
how the deuce you’ll get home.” 

“ Well, you’re not under a willow now.” 

“No ; I was, but I had to quit. Derosne and 
Miss Medland turned me out.” 

“ Ah!” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You felt you ought to go? ” 

“ My tact told me so. I say, Kilshaw, what do 
you make of that ? ” 

“ Nothing in it,” answered Kilshaw confidently. 

Captain Heseltine had but one test of sincerity, 
and it was a test to which he knew Kilshaw was, 
as a rule, quite ready to submit. He took out a 
small note-book from one pocket and a pencil from 
the other. 

“ What’ll you lay that it doesn’t come off? ” he 
asked. 

“ I won’t bet.” 

“ Oh,” said the Captain, scornfully implying that 
he ceased to attach value to Mr. Kilshaw’s judg- 
ment. 

“ I won’t bet, because I know.” 

“ The deuce you do ! ” exclaimed Heseltine, 
promptly repocketing his apparatus. 

“ And, if you want another reason why I won’t 
bet,” continued Kilshaw, who did not like the 
Captain’s air of incredulity, “I’ll tell you. I’m 
going to stop it myself.” 

“Oh, of course, if you object!” said the Cap- 
tain, with undisguised irony. “ I hope, though, 
that you’ll let me have a shot, after Dick.” 

“ You won’t want it, if you’re a wise man. You 
wait a bit, my friend,” and with a grim nod of his 
head, Kilshaw rode on. 


95 


HALF A HERO 


The Captain looked after him with a meditative 
stare. Then he glanced at his watch. 

“ That beggar knows something,” said he. “ I 
think I’ll go and interrupt friend Richard.” And 
he continued, apostrophising the absent Dick — 
“To stay out, my boy, may not be easy ; but to 
get out when you’re once in, is the deuce ! ” 


96 


CHAPTER XII 


AN ABSURD AMBITION 

Suave mart viagno — Like so many of us who quote 
these words, Mr. Coxon could not finish the line, 
but the tag as it stood was enough to express his 
feelings. If the Cabinet were going to the bot- 
tom, he was not to sink with it. If he had one 
foot in that leaky boat, the other was on firm 
ground. He had received unmistakable intima- 
tions that, if he would tread the path of penitence 
as Puttock had, the way should be strewn with 
roses, and the fatted calf duly forthcoming at the 
end of the journey. He had a right to plume 
himself on the dexterity which had landed him in 
such a desirable position, and he was fully awake 
to the price which that position made him worth. 
Now a man who commands a great price, thought 
Mr. Coxon, is a great man. So his meditations — 
which, in this commercial age, seem hardly open to 
adverse criticism —ran, as he walked toward Gov- 
ernment House, just about the same time as Mr. 
Kilshaw was also thinking of betaking himself 
thither. A great man (Mr. Coxon’s reflections 
continued) can aspire to the hand of any lady — 
more especially when he depends not merely on 
intellectual ability (which is by no means every- 
thing), but is also a man of culture, of breeding, 
of a University education, and of a very decent 
income. He forbore to throw his personal attrac- 
97 


HALF A HERO 


tions into the scale, but he felt that if he were in 
other respects a suitable aspirant, no failure could 
await him on that score. Vanity apart, he could 
not be blind to the fact that he was in many ways 
different from most of his compatriots, still more 
from most of his colleagues. 

“ In all essentials I am an Englishman, pure and 
simple,” thought he, as he entered the gates of 
Government House ; but, the phrase failing quite 
to satisfy him, he substituted, as he rang the bell, 
44 An English gentleman.” 

44 Shall we go into the garden? ” said Lady 
Eynesford, after she had bidden him welcome. 44 I 
dare say we shall find Miss Scaife there,” and, as 
she spoke, she smiled most graciously. 

Coxon followed her, his brow clouded for the 
first time that day. He was not anxious to find 
Miss Scaife, and he had begun to notice that Lady 
Eynesford always suggested Miss Scaife as a re- 
source; her manner almost implied that he must 
come to see Miss Scaife. 

44 I can’t think where she has got to,” exclaimed 
Lady Eynesford, after a perfunctory search ; 4 4 but 
it’s too hot to hunt. Sit down here in the veranda. 
Eleanor has probably concealed herself somewhere 
to read the last debate. She takes such an interest 
in all your affairs — the Ministry’s, I mean.” 

44 1 noticed she was very attentive the other 
day.” 

44 Oh, at that wretched House ! Why don’t you 
ventilate it? It gave poor Alicia quite a head- 
ache. ” 

44 1 hope Miss Derosne is not still suffering? ” 

44 Oh, it’s nothing much. I suppose she feels 
this close weather. It’s frightful, isn’t it ? I won- 

98 


AN ABSURD AMBITION 


der you had the courage to walk up. It’s very 
friendly of you, Mr. Coxon.” 

“ With such an inducement, Lady Eynesford — ” 
Coxon began, in his laboriously polite style. 

“ I know,” laughed his hostess, and her air was 
so kind and confidential that Coxon was embold- 
ened. He did not understand why people called 
the Governor’s wife cold and “ stand-offish ” ; he 
always insisted that no one could be more cordial 
than she had shown herself toward him. 

“ What do you know ? ” he asked, with a smile, 
and an obviously assumed look of surprise. 

“ You don’t suppose I think I’m the inducement 
— or even the Governor ? And we can’t find her ! 
Too bad ! ” and Lady Eynesford shook her head 
in playful despair. 

“ But,” said Coxon, feeling now quite happy, 
“ isn’t the — the inducement — at home? ” 

“ Oh yes, she’s somewhere,” replied Lady Eynes- 
ford, good-naturedly ignoring her visitor’s too ready 
acquiescence in her modest disclaimer. 

“I’m afraid I’m a poor politician. I can conceal 
nothing.” 

“Your secret is quite safe with me, and no one 
else has guessed it.” 

“Not even Miss Scaife?” asked Coxon, with a 
smile. Eleanor had so often managed a tete-a-tete 
for him, he remembered. 

‘ 4 Oh, I can’t tell that — but, you know, we women 
never guess these things till were told. It’s not 
correct, Mr. Coxon.” 

“ But you say you guessed it.” 

“ That’s quite different. I might guess it — or — 
or anybody else (though nobody has) — but not 
Eleanor.” 


99 


HALF A HERO 


A slight shade of perplexity crossed Coxon’s 
brow. The lady, if kind and reassuring, was also 
somewhat enigmatical. 

“ I believe,” he said, “ Miss Scaife has guessed it.” 

“ Indeed ! And is she — pleased? ” 

“ I hope so.” 

“ So do I — for your sake.” 

“ Her approbation would be a factor, would it? ” 

“ Really, Mr. Coxon, I suppose it would ! ” ex- 
claimed Lady Eynesford in surprise. 

“ I mean it would be likely to weigh with — with 
your sister-in-law ? ” 

“With Alicia? Why, what has Alicia got to 
do with it ? ” 

“ Y ou mustn’t chaff me, Lady Eynesford. It’s too 
serious,” pleaded Coxon, in self-complacent tones. 

“ What does the man mean ? ” thought Lady 
Eynesford. Then a glance at his face somehow 
brought sudden illumination, and the illumination 
brought such a shock that Lady Eynesford was 
startled into vulgar directness of speech. 

“ Good gracious ! Surely it is Eleanor you come 
after ? ” she exclaimed. 

“ Miss Scaife ! What made you think that ? 
Surely you’ve seen that it’s Miss Derosne who ” 

“ Mr. Coxon ! ” 

At the tone in which Lady Eynesford seemed 
to hurl his own name in his teeth, Coxon’s rosy 
illusion vanished. He sat in gloomy silence twist- 
ing his hat in his hand and waiting for Lady Eynes- 
ford to speak again. 

“ You astonish me ! ” she said at last. “ I made 
sure it was Eleanor.” 

“ Why is it astonishing ? ” he asked. “ Surely 

Miss Derosne’s attractions are sufficient to ? ” 

100 


AN ABSURD AMBITION 


“ Oh, I’m so sorry, I am indeed. You must 
believe me, Mr. Coxon. If I had foreseen this I 
— I would have guarded against it. But now — in- 
deed, I’m so sorry.” 

Lady Eynesford’s sorrowful sympathy failed to 
touch Coxon’s softer feelings. 

“ What is there to be sorry about ? ” he de- 
manded, almost roughly. 

“ Why this — this unfortunate misunderstanding. 
Of course I thought it was Eleanor ; you seemed 
so suited to one another.” 

Coxon, ignoring the natural affinity suggested, 
remarked, 

“ There’s no harm done that I can see, except 
that I hoped I had you on my side. Perhaps I 
shall have still.” 

Sympathy had failed. Lady Eynesford, recog- 
nising that, felt she had a duty to perform. 

“ I dare say I am to blame,” she said, “ but I 
never thought of such a thing. Really, Mr. 
Coxon, you must see that I wasn’t likely to think 
of it,” and her tone conveyed an appeal to his 
calmer reason. She was quite unconscious of giv- 
ing any reasonable cause of offence. 

“ Why not? ” he asked, the silky smoothness of 
his manner disappearing in his surprise and wound- 
ed dignity. 

“ The — the — oh, if you don’t see, I can’t tell you.” 

“ You appear to assume that attentions from me 
to your sister-in-law were not to be expected.” 

“ You do see that, don’t you ? ” 

“ While attentions to your governess ” 

“ Miss Scaife is my friend and worthy of any- 
body’s attentions,” interposed Lady Eynesford 
quickly. 


101 


HALF A HERO 


“But all the same, very different from Miss 
Derosne,” sneered Coxon sullenly, putting her 
thoughts into her mouth with a discrimination 
that completed her discomfiture. 

“ I don’t think there is any advantage in discuss- 
ing it further,” remarked Lady Eynesford, rising. 

“ I claim to see Miss Derosne herself. I am not 
to be put off.” 

“ I will acquaint the Governor and my sister-in- 
law with your wishes. No doubt my husband 
will communicate with you. Good-morning, Mr. 
Coxon,” and Lady Eynesford performed her stiff- 
est bow. 

“ Good-morning, Lady Eynesford,” he answered, 
in no less hostile tones, and very different was the 
man who slammed the gate of Government House 
behind him from the bland and confident suitor 
who had entered it half-an-hour before. 

The moment he was gone, Lady Eynesford ran 
to her husband. 

“ The next time you take a Governorship,” she 
exclaimed, as she sank into a chair, “ you must 
leave me at home.” 

“ What’s the matter now ? ” 

Lady Eynesford, with much indignant comment, 
related the tale of Coxon’s audacity. 

“ Of course I meant him for Eleanor,” she con- 
cluded. “ Did you ever hear of such a thing ? ” 

“ But, my dear, he must see Alicia if he wants 
to. We can’t turn him out as if he was a foot- 
man! After all, he’s got a considerable position 
here.” 

“ Here ! ” And the word expressed an opinion 
as comprehensive as, though far more condensed 
than, any to be found in Tomes. 

102 


AN ABSURD AMBITION 


“ I suppose, Mary, there’s no danger of — of Ali- 
cia being ? ” 

“ Willie ! I couldn’t imagine it.” 

“ Well, I’ll just tell her, and then I’ll write to 
Coxon and see what to do.” 

“ Do make her understand it’s impossible,” urged 
Lady Eynesford. 

“ We’ve no reason to suppose she’s ever thought 
of it,” the Governor reminded his wife. 

“No, of course not,” she said. “I shall leave 
you alone with her, Willie.” 

Alicia came down at the Governor’s summons. 

“ Well, here’s another,” said the Governor play- 
fully. 

Alicia’s conquests had been somewhat numerous 
— such things were so hard to avoid, she pleaded 
— and it was not the first time her brother had had 
to confront her with the slain. 

“ Another what? ” 

“ Another victim. Mary has been here in a rage 
because a gentleman is ready to be at your feet. 
Now who do you think it is? ” 

“ I sha’n’t guess. When I guess, I always guess 
wrong,” said Alicia, “ and that ” 

“ Tells tales, doesn’t it ? Well! it’s a great man 
this time.” 

A sudden impossible idea ran through her head. 
Surely it couldn’t be — ? But nothing we think of 
very much seems always impossible. It might be ! 
Her air of raillery dropped from her. She sat 
down, blushing and breathing quickly. 

“ Who is it, Willie ? ” she gasped. 

“ No, you must guess,” said the Governor, 
over his shoulder; he was engaged in lighting a 
cigar. 


103 


HALF A HERO 


“No, no ; tell me, tell me,” she could not help 
crying. 

At the sound other voice, he turned quickly and 
looked curiously at her. 

“ Why, Al, what’s the matter ? ” he asked un- 
easily. 

Surely she could not care for that fellow ? But 
girls were queer creatures. Lord Eynesford al- 
ways doubted if they really knew a gentleman 
from one who was — well, very nearly a gentleman. 

Alicia saw his puzzled look and forced a smile. 

“ Don’t tease me. Who is it ? ” 

“ No less a man than a Minister.” 

“ A — Willie, who is it ? ” she asked, and she 
stretched out a hand in entreaty. 

“My dear girl, whatever — ? Well, then, it’s 
Coxon.” 

“ Mr. Coxon ! Oh ! ” and a sigh followed, the 
hand fell to her side, the flush vanished. 

She felt a great relief; the strain was over; there 
was nothing to be faced now, and, as happens at 
first, peace seemed almost so sweet as to drown the 
taste of disappointment. Yet she could not have 
denied that the taste of disappointment was there. 

“ Oh ! how absurd ! ” 

“ It’s rather amusing,” said his Excellency, much 
relieved in his turn. “You won’t chaff Mary — 
promise.” 

“ What about ? No, I promise.” 

“ She thought he was sweet on Eleanor, and 
rather backed him up — asked him here and all 
that, you know — and it was you all the time.” 

Alicia laughed. 

“I thought Mary used to leave him a lot to 
Eleanor.” 


104 


AN ABSURD AMBITION 


“ That’s it.” 

“ But Eleanor always passed him on to me.” 

“The deuce she did ! ” laughed Lord Eynesford. 

“ Don’t tell Mary that ! ” 

“ Not I ! Well, what shall I say ? He wants to 
see you. ” 

“ How tiresome ! ” 

“ Look here, Al, Mary seems to have given him 
a bit of her mind ; but I must be civil. We can’t 
tell the chap that he’s — well, you know. It 
wouldn’t do out here. You don’t mind seeing 
him, do you ? ” 

Alicia said that she would do her duty. 

“ And shall I be safe in writing and telling him 
I can say nothing till he has discovered your incli- 
nations ? ” 

“ You’ll be perfectly safe,” said Alicia with de- 
cision. 

The Governor wrote his letter; it was a very 
civil letter indeed, and Lord Eynesford felt that it 
ought in some degree to assuage the wrath which 
his wife’s unseemly surprise had probably raised in 
Coxon’s breast. 

“ It’s all very well,” he pondered, “ for a man to 
be civil all round as I am ; but his womankind can 
always give him away.” 

He closed his note, pushed the writing-pad from 
him, and, leaning back in his chair, puffed at his , 
cigar. In the moment of reflection, the impression 
of Alicia’s unexplained agitation revived in his 
memory. 

“ I don’t believe,” he mused, “ that she expected 
me to say Coxon. I wonder if there’s some one 
else; it looked like it. But who the deuce could 
it be here ? It can’t be Heseltine or Flemyng — 
105 


HALF A HERO 


they’re not her sort — and there’s no one else. Ah ! 
the mail came in this morning, perhaps it’s some 
one at home. That must be it. I like that fellow’s 
impudence. Wonder who the other chap is. 
Perhaps I was wrong — you can’t tell with women, 
they always manage to get excited about some- 
thing. I swear there was nothing before I came 

out, and there’s no one here, and ” 

“ Mr. Kilshaw,” announced Jackson. 


106 


CHAPTER XIII 


OUT OF HARM’S WAY 

44 I don’t see what business it is of his,” said Dick 
to his brother the next afternoon. 44 I call it 
infernal impertinence.” 

Lord Eynesford differed. 

fi< W ell, I don’t,” he said. 44 He did it with great 
tact, and I’m very much obliged to him.” 

“ I wish people would leave my affairs alone,” 
Dick grumbled. 

44 Has it gone very far? ” asked his brother, 
ignoring the grumble. 

44 Depends upon what you call far. There’s 
nothing settled, if that’s what you mean.” 

“ I don’t know that I’ve any exact right to inter- 
fere, but isn’t it about time you made up your mind 
whether you want it to go any farther ? ” 

“ What’s the hurry ? ” 

44 Because,” pursued the Governor, 44 it seems to 
me that going on as you’re doing means either that 
you want to marry her, or that you're making a 
fool of her.” 

This pointed statement of the case awoke Dick’s 
dormant conscience. 

44 And a cad of myself, you mean ? ” he asked. 

44 Same thing, isn’t it ? ” replied his brother curtly. 

44 1 suppose so,” Dick admitted ruefully. 44 Hang 
it, I am a fool ! ” 

44 1 don’t imagine you want to do anything a 
gentleman wouldn’t do. Only, if you do, you 
won’t do it from my house — that’s all.” 

8 107 


HALF A HERO 


“ All right, old chap. Don’t be so precious down 
on me. I didn’t mean any harm. A fellow gets 
led on, you know — no, I don’t mean by her — by 
circumstances, you know.” 

“I grant you she’s pretty and pleasant, but she 
won’t have a sou , and — well, Medland’s a very 
clever fellow and very distinguished. But ” 

“No, I know. They’re not our sort.” 

“ Then of course it’s no use blinking the fact that 
there’s something wrong. I don’t know what, but 
something.” 

“ Did Kilshaw tell you that ? ” 

“ Yes, between ourselves, he did. He wouldn’t 
tell me what, but said he knew what he was talk- 
ing about, and that I’d better tell you that you and 
all of us would be very sorry before long if we had 
anything to do with the Medlands.” 

“ What the deuce does he mean ? ” asked Dick 
fretfully. 

“ Well, you know the sort of gossip that’s about. 
Compare that with what Kilshaw said.” 

“ What gossip ? ” 

“ Nonsense ! You know well enough. It’s im- 
possible to live here without noticing that every- 
body thinks there’s something wrong. I believe 
Kilshaw knows what it is, and, what’s more, that 
he means to have it out some day. However that 
may be, rumours of the sort there are about are by 
themselves enough to stop any wise man.” 

“ Old wives’ scandal, I expect.” 

“Perhaps: perhaps not. Anyhow, I’d rather 
have no scandal, old wives’ or any other, about my 
wife’s family.” 

“ I’m awfully fond of her,” said Dick. 

“Well, as I said, it’s your look-out. I don’t 
108 


OUT OF HARMS WAY 


know what Mary ’ll say, and — you’ve only got six 
hundred a year of your own, Dick.” 

“ It seems to me were in the deuce of a hurry — ,3 
began Dick feebly, but his brother interrupted 
him. 

“ Come, Dick, do you suppose Kilshaw would 
have come to me, if he hadn’t thought the matter 
serious? It wasn’t a very pleasant interview for 
him. I expect you’ve been making the pace pretty 
warm.” 

Dick did not venture on a denial. He shifted 
about uneasily in his seat, and lit a cigarette with 
elaborate care. 

“ I don’t want to be disagreeable,” pursued the 
Governor, “ but both for your sake and mine — not 
to speak of the girl’s — I won’t have anything that 
looks like trifling with her. You must make up 
your mind; you must go on, or you must drop it.” 

“ How the devil can I drop it ? I’m bound to meet 
her two or three times a week, and I can’t cut 
her.” 

“ You needn’t flirt with her.” 

“ Oh, needn’t I ? That’s all you know about it.” 

The Governor was not offended by this rudeness. 

“Then,” he said, “if you don’t mean to go 
on ” 

“Who said I didn’t?” 

“ Do you ? ” 

Dick was driven into a corner. He asked why 
life was so ill-arranged, why he was poor, why a 
man might not look at a girl without proposing to 
her, why everybody was always so down on him, 
why people chattered so maliciously, why he was 
such a miserable devil, and many other questions. 
His brother relentlessly repeated his “Do you?” 

109 


HALF A HERO 


and at last Dick, red in the face, and with every 
sign of wholesome shame, blurted out, 

“How can I marry her? You know I can’t — 
especially after this story of Kilshaw’s.” 

44 V ery well. Then if you can’t marry her, and 

yet can’t help making love to her ” 

“ I didn’t say I made love to her.” 

44 Rut you do — making love to her, I say, as often 
as you see her, why, you mustn’t see her.” 

44 I’m bound to see her.” 

44 As long as you stay here, yes. But you needn’t 
stay here. We can govern New Lindsey without 
you, Dick, for a time, anyhow.” 

This suggestion fell as a new light on Dick 
Derosne. He waited a moment before answering 
it with a long-drawn 44 O-oh ! ” 

“ Yes,” said the Governor, nodding emphatically. 
44 You might just as well run home and give a look 
to things : most likely they’re going to the deuce.” 
44 But what am I to say to people ? ” 

“Why, that you’re going to look after some 
affairs of mine.” 

“ Will she believe that ? ” 

“ She ? You said 4 people ! ’ ” 

“ Hang it, Willie ! I don’t like bolting. Besides, 
it’s not half bad out here. Do you think I’ve — 
I’ve behaved like a beast, Willie? ” 

“ It looks like it.” 

“ It’s no more than what lots of fellows do.” 

44 Not a bit : less than a great many, thank God, 
Dick. Come, old chap, do the square thing — the 
squarest thing you can do now.” 

44 Give me till to-morrow, ” said Dick, and escaped 
in a jumble of conflicting feelings— smothered pride 
in his fascinations, honest reprobation of his reck- 
110 


OUT OF HARMS WAY 


lessness, momentary romantic impulses, recurrent 
prudential recollections, longings to stay, impa- 
tience to get rid of the affair, regrets that he had 
ever met Daisy Medland, pangs at the notion of 
not meeting her in the future — a very hotch-pot of 
crossed and jarring inclinations. 

So the Governor did the right, the prudent thing, 
the only thing, the thing which he could not doubt 
was wise, and which all reasonable men must have 
seen to be inevitable. Nevertheless when he met 
Daisy Medland that afternoon in the Park, he felt 
much more like a pickpocket than it is comfort- 
able to feel when one is her Majesty’s represent- 
ative : for Dick was with him, and Daisy’s eyes, 
which had lightened in joy at seeing them, clouded 
with disappointment as they rode past without 
stopping. Thus, when Dick turned very red and 
muttered, “ I am a beast,” the Governor moaned 
inwardly, “ So am I.” 

It is perhaps creditable to Man — and Man, as 
opposed to Woman, in these days needs a word 
slipped in for him when it is reasonably possible — 
that these touches of tenderness fought against the 
stern resolve that had been taken. But of course 
they were only proper fruits of penitence, in Dick 
for himself, in Lord Eynesford for his kind, and 
it could not be expected that they would reproduce 
themselves in persons so entirely innocent of actual 
or vicarious offence as Lady Eynesford and Eleanor 
Scaife. 

“ I think,” said Lady Eynesford, “ that we may 
congratulate ourselves on a very happy way of 
getting out of the results of Dick’s folly.” 

“ I can’t think that Dick said anything really 
serious,” remarked Eleanor. 

ill 


HALF A HERO 


“ So much depends on how people understand 
things,” observed Lady Eynesford. 

It was on the tip of Eleanor’s tongue to add, 
“ Or wish to understand them,” but she recollected 
that she had really no basis for this malicious in- 
sinuation, and made expiation for entertaining it 
by saying to Alicia, 

“You think she’s a nice girl, don’t you ? ” 

“ Very,” said Alicia briefly. 

“ The question is not what she is, so much as 
who she is,” said Lady Eynesford. 

“I expect it was all Dick’s fault,” said Alicia 
hastily. 

“ Or that man’s,” suggested the Governor s wife. 

A month ago Alicia would have protested 
strongly. Now she held her peace : she could not 
trust herself to defend the Premier. Yet she was 
full of sympathy for his daughter, and of indigna- 
tion at the tone in which her sister-in-law referred 
to him. Also she was indignant with Dick : this 
conduct of Dick’s struck her as an impertinence, 
and, on behalf of the Medlands, she resented it. 
They talked, too, as if it were a flirtation with a 
milliner — dangerous enough to be troublesome, yet 
too absurd to be really dangerous — discreditable 
no doubt to Dick, but — she detected the underly- 
ing thought — still more discreditable to Daisy 
Medland. The injustice angered her : it would 
have angered her at any time ; but her anger was 
forced to lie deeply hidden and secret, and the sup- 
pression made it more intense. Dick’s flighty fancy 
caricatured the feeling with which she was strug- 
gling : the family attitude toward it faintly fore- 
shadowed the consternation that the lightest hint 
of her unbanishable dream would raise. And, 
112 


OUT OF HARMS WAY 


worst of all — so it seemed to her — what must Med- 
land think ? He must surely scorn them all — this 
petty pride, their microscopic distinctions of rank, 
their little devices — all so small, yet all enough to 
justify the wounding of his daughter’s heart. It 
gave her a sharp, almost unendurable pang to think 
that he might confound her in his sweeping judg- 
ment. Could he after — after what he had seen ? 
He might think she also trifled — that it was in the 
family — that they all thought it good fun to lead 
people on and then — draw back in scorn lest the 
suppliant should so much as touch them. 

In the haste of an unreasoning impulse, she went 
to Medland’s house, full of the idea of dissociating 
herself from what had been done, only dimly con- 
scious of difficulties which, if they existed, she was 
yet resolute to sweep away. Convention should 
not stand between, nor cost her a single unkind 
thought from him. 

She asked for Daisy Medland, and was shown 
into Daisy’s little room. She had not long to wait 
before Daisy came in. Alicia ran to meet her, but 
dared not open the subject near her heart, for the 
young girl’s bearing was calm and distant. Yet 
her eyes were red, for it was but two hours since 
Dick Derosne had flung himself out of that room, 
and she had been left alone, able at last to cast off* 
the armour of wounded pride and girlish reticence. 
She had assumed it again to meet her new visitor, 
and Alicia’s impetuous sympathy was frozen by the 
fear of seeming impertinence. 

At last, in despair of finding words, yet set not 
to go with her errand undone, she stretched out 
her arms, crying — 

“ Daisy ! Not with me, dear ! ” 

113 


HALF A HERO 


Daisy was not proof against an assault like that. 
Her wounded pride — for Dick had not been enough 
of a diplomatist to hide the meaning of his sudden 
flight — had borne her through her interview with 
him, and he had gone away doubting if she had 
really cared for him; it broke down now. She 
sprang to Alicia’s arms, and her comforter seemed 
to hear her own confession in the young girl’s broken 
and half-stifled words. 

“ Do come again, ” said Daisy, and Alicia, who 
after a long talk had risen to go, promised with a 
kiss. 

The door opened and Medland came in. Alicia 
started, almost in fright. 

“ I came — I came — ” she began in her agitation, 
for she assumed that his daughter had told him her 
story. 

“ It’s very kind of you,” he answered, and she, still 
misunderstanding, went on eagerly — 

“ It’s such a shame ! Oh, you don’t think 1 had 
anything to do with it ? ” 

He looked curiously from one to the other, but 
said nothing. 

Alicia kissed Daisy again and passed by him tow- 
ard the door : he followed her, and, closing the door, 
said abruptly, 

“ What’s a shame, Miss Derosne ? What’s the 
matter with Daisy ? ” 

“ You don’t know? Oh, I’ve no right ” 

“No; but tell me, please. Come in here,” and 
he beckoned her into his own study. 

“ Is she in any trouble ? ” he asked again. “ She 
won’t tell me, you know, for fear of worrying me, 
so you must.” 

Somehow Alicia, unable to resist his request, 
114 


OUT OF HARMS WAY 


stammered out the gist of the story ; she blamed 
Dick as severely as he deserved, and shielded Daisy 
from all suspicion of haste in giving her affection; 
but the story stood out plain. 

“ And — and I was so afraid,” she ended as she 
had begun, “ that you would think that I had any- 
thing to do with it.” 

“ Poor little Daisy ! ” he said softly. “ No ; I’m 
sure you hadn’t. Ah, well, I dare say they’re 
right.” 

He was so calm that she was almost indignant 
with him. 

“ Can’t you feel for her — you, her father ? ” she 
exclaimed. 

But a moment later she added, “ I didn’t mean 
that. Forgive me ! I can’t bear to think of the 
way she has been treated ! ” 

He looked up suddenly and asked, 

“ Was it only — general objections — or — or any- 
thing in particular ? ” 

“ What do you mean ? I don’t know of anything 
in particular.” 

“ I’m glad. I shouldn’t have liked — but you 
won’t understand. Well, you’ve been very kind/’ 

She would not leave her doubt unsettled. His 
manner puzzled her. 

“ Do you know of anything ? ” she found courage 
to add. 

“ ‘ The fathers eat sour grapes,’ ” he answered, with 
a bitter smile. “ Poor little Daisy ! ” 

“ I believe you’re hinting at something against 
yourself.” 

“ Perhaps.” 

He held out his hand to bid her good-bye, add- 
ing, 


115 


HALF A HERO 


“ You’d better let us alone, Miss Derosne.” 

“ Why should I let you alone ? Why mayn’t I 
be her friend ? ” 

He made no direct answer, but said, 

“ Your news of what has happened — I mean of 
your friends’ attitude — hardly surprises me. You 
won’t suppose I feel it less, because it’s my fault — 
and my poor girl has to suffer for it.” 

“ Your fault ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ I don’t understand,” she murmured. 

“ I hope you never need,” he answered earnestly, 
holding out his hand again. 

This time she took it, but, as she did, she looked 
full in his face and said, 

“ I will believe nothing against you, not even 
your own words. Good-bye.” 

Her voice faltered in the last syllable, and she 
ran hastily down the stairs. 

Medland stood still for some minutes. Then he 
went in to his daughter and kissed her. 

But even that night, in spite of his remorse and 
sorrow for her grief, his daughter was not alone in 
his thoughts. 


116 


CHAPTER XIV 


A FATAL SECESSION 

The sudden departure of Dick Derosne was, ac- 
cording to Kilshaw’s view of it, a notable triumph 
for him over his adversary ; but he was not a man 
to rest content with one victory. He had hardly 
achieved this success when a chance word from 
Captain Heseltine started him in a new enterprise, 
and a hint from Sir John Oakapple confirmed him 
in his course. He made up his mind not to wait 
for the slow growth of disaffection in Coxon’s mind, 
but to accelerate the separation of that gentleman 
from his colleagues. The Captain had been pleased 
to be much amused at the cessation of Coxon’s 
visits to Government House : Eleanor Scaife’s con- 
tempt for her supposed admirer was so strong that, 
when playfully taxed with hardness of heart, she 
repelled the charge with a vigour that pointed the 
Captain straight to the real fact. Having appre- 
hended it, he thought himself in no way bound to 
observe an over-strict reticence as to Coxon’s 
“ cheek ” and his deserved rebuff. 

“ In fact,” he concluded, “love’s at a discount. 
With Coxon and Dick before one’s eyes, it really 
isn’t good enough. All a fellow gets is a dashed 
good snubbing or his marching orders.” And he 
added, as if addressing an imaginary waiter, “ Thank 
you, I’m not taking it to-day.” 

His words fell on attentive ears, and the next 
time Kilshaw had a chance of conversing with 
117 


HALF A HERO 


Coxon at the Club, he did not forget what he had 
learnt from Captain Heseltine. 

“ How d’you do, Coxon ? ” said he. “ Haven’t 
seen you for a long time. Come and sit here. You 
weren’t at the Governor’s party the other night? ” 

Coxon, gratified at this cordial greeting, joined 
Mr. Kilshaw. They were alone in the Club lunch- 
eon-room, and Coxon was always anxious to hear 
anything that Sir Robert or his friends had to say. 
There was always a possibility that it might be very 
well worth his while to listen. 

“ I wasn’t there,” he said. “ I don’t go when I 
can help it.” 

“ You used to be so regular,” remarked Kilshaw 
in surprise, or seeming surprise. 

Coxon gave a laugh of embarrassed vexation. 

“ I think I go as often as I’m wanted,” he said. 
“ To tell you the truth, Kilshaw, I find my lady a 
little high and mighty.” 

“Women can never separate politics and per- 
sons,” observed Kilshaw, with a tolerant smile. 
“ It’s no secret, I suppose, that she’s not devoted to 
your chief.” 

Coxon looked up quickly. His wounded vanity 
had long sought for an explanation of the cruel re- 
buff he had endured. 

“Well, I never put it down to that,” he said. 

“ It can’t be anything in yourself, can it? ” asked 
Kilshaw, in bland innocence. “ No, no ; Lady 
Eynesford’s one of us, and there’s an end of it — 
though of course I wouldn’t say it openly. Look 
at the different way she treats the Puttocks since 
they left you ! ” 

‘ ‘ It’s highly improper,” observed Coxon. 

“I grant it; but she’s fond of Perry, and sees 
118 


A FATAL SECESSION 


through his glasses. And then you must allow for 
her natural prejudices. Is Medland the sort of man 
who would suit her ? Candidly now ? ” 

“She needn’t identify us all with Medland ? ” 

“ Come and have a cigar. Ah, there’s Sir John! 
How are you, Chief Justice? Looks a bit shaky, 
doesn’t he ? Come along, Coxon.” 

So saying, Kilshaw led the way to the smoking- 
room, and, when the pair were comfortably settled, 
he recurred to his topic. 

“ I remember her asking me — in confidence of 
course, and, all the same, perhaps not very dis- 
creetly — what in the world made you go over, and 
what made you stay over.” 

“ And you said ? ” 

“ I didn’t know what to say. I never did under- 
stand, and I understand less than ever now.” 

“ Haven’t I explained in the House ? ” 

“ Oh, in the House ! I tell you what it is, Cox- 
on, — and you must stop me if you don’t like to 
hear it — I shall always consider Medland got your 
support on false pretences.” 

Coxon did not stop him. He sat and bit his 
finger-nail while Kilshaw pointed out the discrep- 
ancies between what Medland had foreshadowed 
and what he was doing. He did not consciously 
exaggerate, but he made as good a case as he 
could ; and he talked to an ear inclined to listen. 

“ He caught you and Puttock on false pretences 
— utterly false pretences,” Kilshaw ended. “ Put- 
tock saw it pretty soon.” 

“ I was too stupid, I suppose ? ” 

“ Well, if you like,” said Xilshaw, with a laugh. 
“ I suppose when one doesn’t appreciate a man’s 
game, one calls him stupid.” 

119 


HALF A HERO 


44 I have no game,” said Coxon stiffly. 

44 My dear fellow, I didn’t mean it offensively, 
I’m sure you haven’t, for if ever a man was sacri- 
ficing his position and his future on the altar of his 
convictions, you are.” 

Mr. Coxon looked noble, and felt uncomfortable. 

“ In a month or two,” continued Kilshaw, laying 
his hand on his neighbour’s arm and speaking im- 
pressively, 44 Medland will be not only out of office, 
but a discredited man.” 

4 4 Why ? ” asked the other uneasily, for Ivilshaw’s 
words implied some hidden knowledge: without 
that he could not have ventured on such a proph- 
ecy to a colleague of the Premier s. 

“Never mind why. You know you can’t last, 
and time will show the rest. He’ll go — and all 
who stick to him. Well, I’ve said too much. 
Have you heard the news? But of course you 
have, Ministers hear everything.” 

44 What news ? ” 

44 The Chief Justice thinks of resigning : he told 
me himself that he had spoken to Medland about 
it, and Medland had asked him to wait a little.” 

44 What for ? ” 

44 Oh, Medland wants to get hold of a good man 
from England, I understood. He thinks nobody 
here equal to it.” 

44 Complimentary to my profession out here.” 

44 1 know. I wonder at Medland : he’s generally 
so strong on ‘Lindsey for the Lindseians,’ as he 
once said. In this matter he and Perry seem to 
have changed places.” 

44 Really ? Then Sir Robert ? ” 

44 Yes, he’s quite anxious to have one of our- 
selves. I must say I heartily agree, and of course 
120 


A FATAL SECESSION 


it could easily be managed, if Medland liked. 
Perry would do it in a minute. I really don’t see 
why the best berth in the colony is to be handed 
over to some hungry failure from London. But 
no doubt you’ll agree with Medland.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” said Coxon. “ It seems to 
me rather a point where the Bar here ought to 
assert itself.” 

“ I know, if we were in and had a fit man, we 
should hear nothing more of an importation. The 
best man in the colony would be glad to have it : 
of course there’s not the power a Minister has, or 
the interest of active political life, but it’s well 
paid, very dignified, and, above all, permanent.” 

Now neither Kilshaw nor Coxon were dull men, 
and by this time they very well understood one 
another. They knew what they meant just as well 
as though they had been indecent enough to say it. 
“ Help us to turn out Medland, and you shall be 
Chief Justice,” said Kilshaw, in the name of Sir 
Robert Perry, — “ Chief Justice, and once more a 
persona grata at Government House.” Chief Jus- 
tice ! Soon, perhaps, Sir Alfred ! W ould not 
that soften the Eynesford heart ? Mr. Coxon 
honestly thought it would. The subtleties of 
English rank are not to be apprehended by a mere 
four years’ visit to our shores. 

“We expect Sir John to go on for a couple of 
months or so,” Kilshaw continued. “ I don’t think 
he’ll stay longer.” 

“ Perhaps we shall be out by then.” 

“Not as things stand, I’m afraid,” and Kilshaw 
shook his head. “ Now if we could get you, Med- 
land would be out in three weeks.” 

“ I must do what I think right.” 

121 


HALF A HERO 


“ My dear Coxon ! Of course ! ” 

Mr. Kilshaw returned to his office well pleased. 
A careful computation showed that Medland was 
supported now by a steady majority of not more 
than eight : Coxon’s defection could not fail to 
leave him in a minority ; for, although Coxon was a 
young man, and, as yet, of no great independent 
weight in politics, he had acquired a factitious im- 
portance, partly from the prestige of a successful 
University career in England, still more from the 
fact that he was the only remaining member of the 
Ministry to whom moderate men and vested inter- 
ests could look with any confidence. Shorn of 
him, as it had been shorn of Puttock, the Govern- 
ment would stand revealed as the organ and ex- 
pression of the Labour Party and nothing else, and 
Perry and Kilshaw doubted not that six or eight 
members of the House would be found to enter 
the “cave,” if Coxon showed them the way. 
Then, — “ Why then, ” said Mr. Kilshaw to his 

conscience, “ we need not use that brute Benham 
at all ! There’s a nice sop ! Lie down like a good 
dog, and stop barking ! ” 

Indeed, had it been quite certain that Benham ’s 
aid would not still prove needful, Kilshaw would 
have been very glad to be rid of him. Complete 
leisure and full pockets appeared not to be, in his 
case, a favourable soil for the growth of virtue. 
No doubt Mr. Benham’s position was in some 
respects a hard one. All men who have money in 
plenty and nothing to do claim from the wise a 
lenient judgment, and, besides these disadvantages, 
Benham laboured under the possession of a secret 
— a secret of mighty power. What wonder if he 
spent much of his day in eating-houses and drink- 
122 


A FATAL SECESSION 


ing-houses, obscurely hinting to admiring boon 
companions of the thing he could do an he would ? 
Then, having drunk his fill, he would swagger, 
sometimes not over-steadily, out to the Park, and 
amuse himself by scowling at the Premier, or 
smiling a smile of hidden meaning at Daisy Mid- 
land, as they drove by. Also, he occasionally got 
into trouble : one zealous partisan of the Premier’s 
rewarded an insinuation with a black eye, and Mr. 
Ivilshaw’s own servant, finding his master’s pen- 
sioner besieging the house in a state of drink- 
begotten noisiness, kicked him dowm the street — 
an excess of zeal that cost Mr. Kilshaw a cheque 
next day. The danger was, how r ever, of a worse 
thing than these. Kilshaw, suffering only what he 
doubtless deserved to suffer, went on thorns of fear 
lest some day Benham should not only explode his 
bomb prematurely, but publish to the world at 
whose charges and under whose auspices the engi- 
neer was carrying out his task. And when Mr. 
Kilshaw contemplated this possibility, he found it 
hopeless to deny that there was pitch on his fin- 
gers. Publicity makes such a difference in men’s 
judgments of themselves. 

In this way things hung on for a week or so, and 
then, one afternoon, the Chief Justice rushed into 
the Club in a state of some excitement. Spying 
Perry and Kilshaw, he hastened to them. 

64 You have heard ? ” he cried. 

c< What ? ” asked Sir Robert, wiping his glasses 
and smiling quietly. 

“No? I believe I’m the first. Coxon told me 
himself : he came into my room when I rose to- 
day. He asked Medland to accept his resigna- 
tion.” 


9 


123 


HALF A HERO 


Kilshaw sprang to his feet. 

“ What on ? ” asked Sir Robert. 

“The Accident- Liability Clause in the Factory 
Act.” 

“ A very good ground,” commented the ex- 
Premier. “ Very cleverly chosen.” 

“ What does Medland say ? ” asked Kilshaw 
eagerly. “Will he give way, or will he let him 
go?” 

“ I think the man’s mad,” said the Chief Justice. 
“ He won’t budge an inch. So Coxon goes — and 
he says a dozen will go with him.” 

Then Mr. Kilshaw ’s feelings overcame him. 

“Hurrah!” he cried. “By heaven, we’ve got 
him now! We shall beat him on the Clause! 
Perry, you’ll be back in a week ! ” 

“It looks like it,” said Sir Robert, “but one 
never knows.” 

“ Puttock’s solid, and now Coxon ! Perry, we 
shall beat him by anything from six to ten ! I 
sha’n’t die a pauper yet ! ” 

Sir John bustled on, anxious to anticipate in 
other quarters the coming newsvendor, and Sir 
Robert turned to his lieutenant. 

“ I suppose he must have his price,” he remarked, 
with deep regret evident in his tone. 

“ I can’t look him in the face if he doesn’t,” an- 
swered Kilshaw. “ By Jove, Perry, he’s earned it.” 

“ Oh yes, so did Iscariot,” said Sir Robert. “ But 
it wasn’t a Judgeship.” 

“ You won’t go back on it, Perry ? ” 

Sir Robert spread out his thin white hands be- 
fore him, and shook his head sorrowfully. 

“A bargain’s a bargain, I suppose,” said he, 
“ even if it happens to be rather an iniquitous one,” 
124 


A FATAL SECESSION 


and having enunciated this principle, on which he 
had often insisted in public, he took up a volume 
of poetry. 

Not so Mr. Kilshaw. He flitted from friend to 
friend, telling the good news and exchanging con- 
gratulations. The evening papers announced the 
resignation and its impending acceptance, and fur- 
ther stated that the rumour was that the Premier 
had convened a meeting of his remaining followers 
to consider their position. 

“ They may consider all night,” said Mr. Kilshaw, 
“ but they can’t change a minority into a majority,” 
and he hailed a cab to take him home. 

Suddenly he was touched on the shoulder. 
Turning, he found Benham beside him. 

“ Good news, eh ? ” said that worthy. “ Shake 
hands on it, Mr. Kilshaw.” 

Kilshaw swallowed his first-formed words, and, 
after a moment’s hesitation, put out his hand. 
Benham shook it warmly, saying, 

“ I guess we’ll blow him up between us. There’s 
my fist on it. See you soon,” and, with a lurching 
step and a leer over his shoulder, he walked on. 

Kilshaw looked at his hand. 

“Thank God I had my glove on,” he said, and 
got into his cab. 

Certainly there is no rose without a thorn. 

When the Governor announced to his household 
that he had accepted Coxon’s resignation, and that 
it was understood that the retiring Minister would 
henceforward act with Sir Robert Perry, the news 
was variously received. Captain Heseltine’s obser- 
vation was brief, but comprehensive. 

“ Rats ! ” said he. 

Alicia nodded to him with a smile. Eleanor 
125 


HALF A HERO 


Scaife began to argue the pros and cons of the Ac- 
cident-Liability Clause, as to which, she considered, 
there might fairly be a difference of opinion. Lady 
Eynesford cut across the inchoate disquisition by 
remarking, 

“ I have never disliked Mr. Coxon, but he doesn’t 
quite know his place,” and nothing that anybody 
could say made her see any absurdity in this re- 
mark. 


CHAPTER XV 


AN ATTEMPT AT TERRORISM 

All the world was driving, riding, or walking in 
the great avenue of the Park. The Governor had 
just gone by on horseback, accompanied by his sister 
and his A.D.C.’s, and Lady Eynesfords carriage 
was drawn up by the pathway. The air was full of 
gossip and rumours, for although it was an “off-day” 
at the House, and nothing important was expected 
to happen there before the following Monday, 
there had been that morning a meeting of the 
Premier’s principal adherents, and every one knew 
or professed to know the decision arrived at. One 
said resignation, another dissolution, a third coali- 
tion, a fourth submission, and the variety of report 
only increased the confidence with which each man 
backed his opinion. Sir Robert Perry alone knew 
nothing, had heard nothing, and would guess noth- 
ing — by which adroit attitude he doubled his repu- 
tation for omniscience. And Mr. Kilshaw alone 
cared nothing : the Ministry was “ cornered,” he 
said, and that was enough for him. Eleanor 
Scaife was insatiable for information, or, failing that, 
conjecture, and she eagerly questioned the throng 
of men who came and went, paying their respects 
to the Governor’s wife, and lingering to say a few 
words on the situation. Sir John Oakapple fixed 
himself permanently by the steps of the carriage, 
and played the part of a good-humoured though 
cynical chorus to the shifting drama. 

Presently, a little way off, Mr. Coxon made his 
127 


HALF A HERO 


appearance, showing in his manner a pleased con- 
sciousness of his importance. They all wanted a 
word with him, and laid traps to catch a hint of his 
future action; he had explained his motives and 
refused to explain his intentions half-a-dozen times 
at least. If this flattering prominence could last, 
he must think twice before he accepted even the 
most dignified of shelves ; but his cool head told 
him it would not, and he was glad to remember 
the provision he had made for a rainy day. 
Meanwhile he basked in the sun of notoriety, and 
played his role of the man of principle. 

“ Ah,” exclaimed Eleanor, “ here comes the hero 
of the hour, the maker and unmaker of Ministries.” 

“ As the weather- cock makes and unmakes the 
wind,” said Sir John, with a smile. 

“ What ? Mr. Coxon ? ” said Lady Eynesford, 
and, pleased to have an opportunity of renewing 
her politeness without revoking her edict, she made 
the late Minister a very gracious bow. 

Coxon’s face lit up as he returned the saluta- 
tion. Had his reward come already ? He had 
been right then ; it was not toward him as himself, 
but toward the Medlandite that Lady Eynesford 
had displayed her arrogance and scorn. Smother- 
ing his recurrent misgivings, and ignoring the 
weakness of his theory, he laid the balm to his 
sore and obliterated all traces of wounded dignity 
from his response to Lady Eynesford’s advance. 

“ My husband tells me,” she said, “ that I must 
leave my opinion of your exploits unspoken, Mr. 
Coxon. Why do you laugh, Sir John ? ” 

“ At a wife’s obedience, Lady Eynesford.” 

“ Then,” said Coxon, “ I shall indulge myself by 
imagining that I have your approbation.” 

128 


AN ATTEMPT AT TERRORISM 


“ And what is going to happen ? ” asked Eleanor 
for about the twentieth time that day. 

Coxon smiled and shook his head. 

“ They all do that,” observed Sir John. “ Come, 
Coxon, admit you don’t know.” 

“We’d better suppose that it’s as the Chief Jus- 
tice says,” answered Coxon, whose smile still hinted 
wilful reticence. 

“ But think how uninteresting it makes you ! ” 
protested Eleanor. 

“ Oh, I don’t agree,” said Lady Eynesford. “ I 
am studying every line of Mr. Coxon’s face, and 
trying to find out for myself.” 

“ I told you,” he said in a lower voice, and 
under cover of a joke Sir John was retailing to 
Eleanor, “ that I was a bad hand at conceal- 
ment.” 

“ I hope you have not remembered all I said 
then as well as all you said? I was so surprised 
and — and upset. Was I very rude ? ” 

The implied apology disarmed Coxon of his last 
resentment. 

“ I was afraid,” he said, “ it meant an end to our 
acquain ” 

“ Our friendship,” interposed the lady with swift 
graciousness. “ Oh, then, I was much more dis- 
agreeable than I meant to be.” 

“It didn’t mean that ? ” 

“You don’t ask seriously? Now do tell me — 
what about the Ministry ? ” 

He sank his voice as he answered, 

“ They can’t possibly last a week.” 

“ You are sure ? ” 

“ Certain, Lady Eynesford. They’ll be beaten 
on Monday.” 


129 


HALF A HERO 


Lady Eynesford, with a significant smile, beat 
one gloved hand softly against the other. 

44 That can’t be seen outside the carriage, can it ? 
You mustn’t tell of me ! And we owe it all to 
you, Mr. Coxon ! ” And for the moment Lady 
Eynesford’s heart really warmed to the man who 
had relieved her of the Medlands. 44 When are 
you coming to see us ? ” she went on. 44 Or is it 
wrong for you to come now? Politically wrong, I 
mean.” 

44 1 was afraid it might be wrong otherwise,” 
Coxon suggested. 

44 Not unless you feel it so, I’m sure.” 

44 Perhaps Miss Derosne — ” he began, but Lady 
Eynesford was on the alert. 

44 Her friendly feelings toward you have under- 
gone no change, and if you can forget — Ah, here 
are Alicia and my husband ! ” and Lady Eynes- 
ford, feeling the arrival excellently well timed, 
broke off the tete-a-tete before the protests she 
feared could form themselves on Coxon’s lips. 

It might be that Alicia’s feelings had undergone 
no change, but, if so, Coxon was forced to recog- 
nise that he could never have enjoyed a large share 
of her favour, for she acknowledged his presence 
with the minimum of civility, and, when he ad- 
dressed her directly, replied with the coldness of 
pronounced displeasure. 

Lady Eynesford, perceiving that graciousness on 
her part was perfectly safe, redoubled her efforts 
to soothe the despised admirer. She had liked 
him well enough, he had served her against her 
enemies, and she was ready and eager to do all she 
could to soften the blow, provided always that she 
could rely on the blow being struck. Now, from 
180 


AN ATTEMPT AT TERRORISM 


Alicia’s manner it was plain that the blow had 
fallen from an unfaltering hand. 

Suddenly the Chief Justice said, 

“ Ah, it’s settled one way or the other. Here 
come Medland and Miss Daisy.” 

In the distance the Premier appeared, walking 
by the pony his daughter rode. Lady Eynesford 
turned to her husband and whispered appealingly, 

“ Need they come here, Willie ? ” 

He shook his head in indulgent disapproval, and 
said to Alicia, 

44 Come, Al, we’ll go and speak to them,” and 
before Lady Eynesford could declare Alicia’s com- 
pany unnecessary, the pair had turned their horses’ 
heads and were on the way to join the Medlands. 

Lady Eynesford’s eyes followed them. She saw 
the meeting, and presently she noticed the Gov- 
ernor ride on with Daisy Medland, while Alicia 
walked her horse and kept pace with the Premier. 
They passed by her on the other side of the broad 
avenue, Medland acknowledging her salutation but 
not crossing to speak to her. She saw Alicia’s 
heightened colour and the eager interest with 
which she bent down to catch Medland’s words. 
Medland spoke quickly and earnestly. Once he 
laughed, and Alicia’s gay peal struck on her sister- 
in-law’s ear. Lady Eynesford, as she looked after 
them, heard Sir John say to Eleanor, 

44 He’s a wonderful man, with a very extraordi- 
nary attraction about him. Everybody feels it 
who comes into personal relations with him. I 
know I do. And Perry has remarked the same 
thing to me. Lady Perry, you know, like all 
women, openly admires him. It’s very amusing 
to see Sir Robert’s face when she praises him.” 

131 


HALF A HERO 


Lady Eynesford did not notice Eleanor’s reply. 
A frown gathered on her brow as she still gazed 
after the two figures. What did they mean by 
talking about the man’s attractiveness ? He had 
never attracted her : and Alicia — It suddenly 
struck her that Alicia’s former championship of 
the Premier had changed to a complete silence, 
and she was vaguely disturbed by the idea of this 
unnatural reticence. Alicia, she knew, was friendly, 
too friendly, with the girl; that did not so much 
matter now that Dick was safe on board ship. 
But if the friendship were not only for the 
daughter ! 

She roused herself from her reverie and turned 
again to Coxon. She found him looking at her 
closely, with a bitter smile on his lips. She had 
not noticed that Eleanor had got out and accepted 
Sir John’s escort for a stroll. She and Coxon were 
alone. 

“ Miss Derosne’s displeasure with me,” he said, 
“ is fully explained, isn’t it? ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” she asked sharply. 

For reply he pointed with his cane. 

“ She favours the Ministry,” he said. “ Your 
views are not hers, Lady Eynesford.” 

“ Oh, she knows nothing about politics.” 

“ Perhaps it isn’t all politics, ” he answered, with 
a boldly undisguised significance. 

Lady Eynesford turned quickly on him, a 
haughty rebuke on her lips, but he did not quail. 
He smiled his bitter smile again, and she turned 
away with her words unspoken. 

A silence followed. Coxon was wondering if his 
hint had gone too far. Lady Eynesford wondered 
how far he had meant it to carry. The idea of 
132 


AN ATTEMPT AT TERRORISM 


danger there was new and strange, and perhaps 
absurd, but infinitely disagreeable and disquieting. 

“Well, good-bye, Lady Eynesford,” he began. 

“No, don’t go,” she answered. But before she 
could say more, there was a sudden stir in the foot- 
path, voices broke out in eager talk, groups formed, 
and men ran from one to the other. Women’s 
high voices asked for the news, and men’s deep 
tones declared it in answer. Coxon turned ea- 
gerly to look, and as he did so, Kilshaw’s carriage 
dashed up. Kilshaw sat inside, with the evening 
paper in his hand. He hurriedly greeted Lady 
Eynesford, and went on — 

“ Pray excuse me, but have you seen Sir Robert 
Perry? I am most anxious to find him.” 

“ He’s there on the path,” answered Coxon, and 
Kilshaw leapt to the ground. 

“ Run and listen, and come and tell me,” cried 
Lady Eynesford, and Coxon, hastening off, over- 
took Kilshaw just as the latter came upon Sir 
Robert Perry. 

The news soon spread. The Premier, conscious 
of his danger, had determined on a demonstration 
of his power. On the Sunday before that eventful, 
much-discussed Monday, when the critical clause 
was to come before the Legislative Assembly, he 
and his followers had decided to convene mass- 
meetings throughout the country, in every con- 
stituency whose member was a waverer, or sus- 
pected of being one of “ Coxon’s rats,” as somebody 
— possibly Captain Heseltine — had nicknamed 
them. This was bad, Kilshaw declared. But far 
worse remained : in the capital itself, in that very 
Park in which they were, there was to be an im- 
mense meeting : the Premier himself would speak, 
133 


HALF A HERO 


and the thousands who listened were to threaten 
the recreant Legislature with vengeance if it threw 
out the people’s Minister. 

“ It’s nothing more or less than an attempt to 
terrorise us,” declared Sir Robert, in calm and 
deliberate tones. “ It’s a most unconstitutional 
and dangerous thing.” 

And Kilshaw endorsed his chiefs views in less 
measured tones. 

“ If there’s bloodshed, on his head be it ! If he 
appeals to force, by Jove, he shall have it ! ” 

Amid all this ferment the Premier walked by, 
half hidden by Alicia Derosne’s horse. 

“ What is the excitement ? ” she exclaimed. 

“ My last shot,” he answered, smiling. 46 Good- 
bye. Go and hear me abused.” 

Lady Eynesford would have been none the 
happier for knowing that Alicia thought, and Med- 
land found, a smile answer enough. 


134 


CHAPTER XVI 


A LEAKY VESSEL 

It was the afternoon of the next day — the Friday 
— and Kirton was in some stir of bustle and ex- 
citement. Groups of working-men gathered and 
discussed the coming meeting ; carts had already 
passed by on their way to the Park carrying 
materials for platforms, and had been cheered by 
some of the more eager spirits. The tradesmen 
were divided in feeling, some foreseeing a brisk 
demand for things to eat and drink in the next 
few days, the more timid not denying this but 
doubting whether payment might not be dispensed 
with, and nervously enlarging on the cost of plate 
glass. Organisers ran busily to and fro, display- 
ing already, some of them, rosettes of office, and 
all of them as much hurry as though the great 
event were fixed for a short hour ahead. Norburn 
was about the streets, looking more cheerful than 
he had done for a long while — the scent of battle 
was in his nostrils — and enjoying the luxury of pre- 
vailing on his friends not to hiss Mr. Puttock when 
that worthy stepped across from his warehouse to 
the Club about five o’clock. 

Inside the Club, also, excitement was not lack- 
ing. The Houses of Parliament were deserted for 
this more central spot, and many members anx- 
iously discussed their principles and their prospects, 
and the relation between the two. Medland’s fol- 
lowers were not there in much force, being for the 
135 


HALF A HERO 


most part employed elsewhere, and indeed at no 
time much given to club- life, or suited for it, but 
there were many of Perry’s, and still more of those 
who had followed Puttock, or were reported to be 
about to follow Coxon, and among them the mem- 
bers for several divisions in and near Kirton. These 
last, feeling that all the stir was largely for their 
benefit and on their account, were in a fluster of 
self-consciousness and apprehension, and very loud 
in their condemnation of the Premier’s unscrupu- 
lous tactics. 

“ Surely the Governor can’t approve of this sort 
of thing,” said one. 

“Is it legal , Sir John ? ” asked another of the 
Chief Justice, who had come in from court and was 
taking a cup of tea. 

“ It’s mere bullying,” exclaimed a third, catching 
Kilshaw’s sympathetic eye. 

“ W e’ll not be bullied,” answered that gentle- 
man. “ Every right-feeling and respectable man is 
with us, from the Governor ” 

“The Governor? How do you know? ’’burst 
from half-a-dozen mouths. 

“ I do know. He’s furious with Medland, partly 
for doing the thing at all, partly for not telling him 
sooner. He thinks Medland took advantage of his 
civility yesterday and paraded him in the Park as 
on his side, while all the time he never said a word 
about this move of his.” 

“ Ah ! ” said everybody, and Coxon, who knew 
nothing about the matter, endorsed Kilshaw’s ac- 
count with a significant nod. 

“ It’s a gambler’s last throw,” declared Puttock. 
“ Honestly, I’m ashamed to have been so long in 
finding out his real character.” 

136 


A LEAKY VESSEL 


Some one here weakly defended the Premier. 

44 After all,” he said, 44 there’s nothing wrong in a 
public meeting, and perhaps that’s all ” 

Puttock overbore him with a solemnly empha- 
sised reiteration 

44 A discredited gambler’s last throw.” 

44 It’s Jimmy Medland’s last throw, anyhow,” 
added Ivilshaw. 44 I’ll see to that.” 

44 Look ! There he is ! ” called a man in the 
bow- window, and the company crowded round to 
look. 

Medland was walking down the street side by 
side with a short, thick-set man, whose close-cut, 
stiff, black hair, bright black eyes, and bristly chin- 
tip gave him a foreign look. The man seemed to 
be giving explanations or detailing arrangements, 
and Medland from time to time nodded assent. 

4 4 Who’s that with him ? ” asked Puttock. 

The desired information came from a young fel- 
low in the Government service. 

44 I know him,” he said, 44 because he applied to 
me for a certificate of naturalisation a month or 
two ago. Francois Gaspard he calls himself — heaven 
knows if it’s his real name. He’s a Frenchman, any- 
how, and, I rather fancy, not a voluntary exile.” 

44 Ah ! ” exclaimed Kilshaw, 44 what makes you 
think that ? ” 

44 Oh, I had a little talk with him, and he said 5 
he’d been kept too long out of his country to care 
about going back now, although the door had been 
opened at last.” 

44 An amnesty, you suppose ? ” 

44 1 thought so. And I happen to know he’s 
very active among the political clubs here.” 

44 Oh, that explains Medland being with him,” 
137 


HALF A HERO 

said Kilshaw. “ Some Communist or Socialist 
probably. ” 

Attention being thus directed to the stranger, 
one or two of the Kirton politicians present recol- 
lected having encountered him in the course of 
their canvassings, and bore witness to the influence 
which he wielded among the extreme section of the 
labouring men. His presence with Medland was 
considered to increase appreciably the threatening 
aspect of affairs. 

“ One criminal in his Cabinet,” said Mr. Kilshaw, 
with scornful reference to Norburn, “and arm-in- 
arm down the street with another. W e’re getting 
on, aren’t we, Chief Justice ? ” 

“ I have seen too many criminals,” answered Sir 
John, “ to think badly of a man merely because he 
commits an offence against the law.” The Chief 
Justice did not intend to be drawn into any exhi- 
bition of partisanship. 

The occupants of the Club window continued to 
watch the Premier until he parted from his com- 
panion with a shake of the hand, and, as it seemed, 
a last emphatic word, and turned to Norburn, who 
was claiming his attention. 

Now the last emphatic word whose unknown 
purport stirred much curiosity in the Club, carried 
a pang of disappointment to Francis Gaspard, for 
it was “ Mind, no sticks,” and it swept away Fran- 
cois’s rapturous imaginings of the thousands of 
Kirton armed with a forest of sturdy cudgels, 
wherewith to terrify the bourgeoisie . Still, Francois 
had made up his mind to trust Jimmy Medland, 
in spite of sundry shortcomings of faith and prac- 
tice, and having sworn by his foi — which, to tell 
the truth, was an unsubstantial sanction — to obey 
138 


A LEAKY VESSEL 


his leader, he loyally, though regretfully, promised 
that there should be no sticks ; for, “ If sticks ap- 
pear,” the Premier had said, 44 1 shall not appear, 
that’s all, Mr. Gaspard.” 

The English illogicality which hung obstinately 
round even such gifted men as Medland and lejeune 
Norburn, so oppressed Francois — who could not 
see why, if you might hint at cudgels in the back- 
ground, you should not use them — that, on his way 
to his next committee, he turned into a tavern to 
refresh his spirit. The room was fairly full, and he 
found, the centre of an interested group, an ac- 
quaintance of his, Mr. Benham. Francis im- 
ported no personal rancour into his politics; he 
hated whole classes with a deadly enmity, but he 
was ready to talk to or drink or gossip with any of 
the individuals composing them, without prejudice 
of course to his right, or rather duty, of obliterat- 
ing them in their corporate capacity at the earliest 
opportunity, or even removing them one by one, 
did his insatiable principles demand the sacrifice. 
He had met Benham several times, since the latter 
had taken to frequenting music-halls and drink- 
ing-shops, and had enjoyed some argument with 
him, in which the loss of temper had been entirely 
on Benham’s side. Francois gave his order, sat 
down, lit his cigarette, and listened to his friend’s 
denunciation of the Government and its works. 

Presently the company, having drunk as much 
as it wanted or could pay for, or being weary of 
Benham’s philippic, went its various ways, and 
Francis was left alone with his opponent. Ben- 
ham had been consuming more small glasses of 
cognac than were good for him, and had reached 
the boastful and confidential stage of intoxication. 

10 139 


HALF A HERO 


He ranged up beside Francois, besought that un- 
bending though polite man to eschew his evil ways, 
and hinted openly at the folly of those who pinned 
their faith on the Premier. 

“ He does not go all my way,” responded Fran- 
cois, with a smile and a shrug, “ but he goes part. 
Well, we will go that part together.” 

Benham leant over him and whispered huskily, 
bringing his fist down on the counter — 

“ I can crush him, and I will.” 

“ My dear friend ! ” murmured Francois. “ See ! 
Do not drink any more. It destroys the generally 
excellent balance of your mind.” 

“ Ah, you may laugh, but I can do it.” 

Francois used the permission ; he laughed gaily 
and freely. 

“ All your party tries,” said he, “ and it does not 
do it. And you will do it alone ! Ah, par eoc- 
emple ! ” 

His cool scepticism unloosed Benham ’s tongue, 
when an eager curiosity might have revived his 
prudence and set a seal on his lips. He had chafed 
at being thought a nobody so long : Kilshaw’s in- 
junctions against gossip had been so hard to follow: 
he could not resist trying what startling effect a 
hint would have. 

“ I know enough to ruin him,” he whispered, and 
something in his look or tone convinced Francois 
that he believed what he said. “Yes, and I’m 
going to do it. Others have got the money and’ll 
back me — I’ve got the information. W e shall ruin 
him, Mr. G-Gaspard, we shall drive him from the 
country, and where’ll your precious party, and your 
precious schemes, and your precious meetings be 
then ? Tell me that ! ” 


140 


A LEAKY VESSEL 


“ He would be a great loss,” remarked Francois 
calmly. 44 But, come, what is this great thing that 
is to ruin him ? ” 

“ W ouldn’t you like to know ? ” 

“ Eh, my friend, immensely ! ” smiled Francois, 
who spoke the mere truth, for all he took care to 
speak it very carelessly. 

44 I’ll tell you this much, it’s not a political mat- 
ter — it’s a private matter, and a public man’s private 
character is everything.” 

44 You think so ? To me, it is not a great thing, 
so that he will do what I wish.” 

Benham smiled knowingly, as he answered, with 
a wink, 

44 At any rate, most people think so. And I’ll 
tell you what, Gaspard, I hate that fellow. He’s 
wronged me — me, I tell you, and, by God, he shall 
smart for it ! ” 

44 Oh, if it is a personal quarrel, ’ ’ murmured 
Francois, with the air of not desiring to intrude in 
a matter which concerned two gentlemen alone. 

44 Every one’ll know it in a few days,” said Ben- 
ham, 44 and then Mr. Medland’s bust up, and all the 
lot of you with him. Put that in your pipe and 
smoke it, friend Gaspard.” 

44 And at present no one knows it but you ? ” 

If Benham had answered truly he would have 
been wise, but his vaunting mind persuaded him 
not to diminish his importance by confessing that 
he shared his secret with any one. After all, it 
was all his secret, though Kilshaw had bought it. 

44 Not a soul alive ! ” he answered, rising to go. 

“ Ah, then yours is a life valuable to your party. 
W rap up, my friend, wrap up. It is chilly out- 
side.” 


141 


HALF A HERO 


He buttoned Benham’s coat for him with friendly 
solicitude, besought him not to get run over — a 
caution rather necessary — and started him on his 
way. Then he sat down again, ordered a cup of 
coffee, and smoked another cigarette. 

“ Decidedly,” he said at last, “ it would be a thou- 
sand pities if a creature like that were allowed to do 
any harm to the good Medland. Surely it would 
not be right to suffer that ? ” 

And he sat thinking, and becoming more and 
more sure whither the finger of duty pointed, until 
some comrades came and carried him off to take the 
chair at an organising committee, where he made 
a very temperate speech, and announced that he 
should regard every one who carried a stick on 
Sunday as intentionally guilty of the grossest inci- 
vility to him, Francois Gaspard, and as an enemy to 
the cause to boot. 


142 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MAN 

In arriving at the bold decision which had caused 
so much anger and alarm to his enemies, and some 
searchings of heart among many who still ranked 
themselves as his friends, the Premier had been 
moved by more than one motive. The sinister de- 
sign of overawing the Legislature by the fear of 
physical force and armed attack did not form part 
of his intentions, but he did intend and desire what, 
to a man trained in the traditions of Sir Robert’s 
school, was hardly less unconstitutional and wrong. 
Through the machinery of his great gatherings, it 
was to be plainly intimated to the members what 
course their constituents and masters willed them 
to follow. He proposed to take every precaution 
against riot — and the necessary measures fell within 
the sphere of his own official duties as Chief Secre- 
tary ; but he was willing and eager that every form 
of suasion and threat, short of the cudgels for which 
Francis Gaspard pined, should be brought to bear 
on his renegade followers. And, in the second 
place, it was a vital object to him to probe as deep 
as he could into the secrets of the popular mind. 
In six months the life of the Legislative Assembly 
would expire by effluxion of time : at any moment 
before he had a right to demand a dissolution, pro- 
vided that he could convince the Governor of the 
probability of his coming back with a majority ; 
thus, if the meetings could not avert defeat, they 
would, he hoped, teach him what course to follow 
143 


HALF A HERO 


in face of it. Lastly, he anticipated a renewal of 
energy and confidence in his own followers as the 
result of an outward manifestation of the support 
which he believed the masses of the electors ac- 
corded to his policy. His plans ignored the mine 
which was always beneath his feet. He had not 
forgotten it : it was constantly present to his mind 
with its menace of sudden explosion, but he was 
driven to diregard a chance that was entirely incal- 
culable. He could not discern the mind of Benham, 
or of the man who pulled the strings to which Ben- 
ham danced, accurately enough to forecast when 
the moment of attack would come. He felt sure 
that nothing short of the surrender and renuncia- 
tion of all his policy could avert the blow — perhaps 
not even that would serve; if so, the blow must 
fall, when and where it would; for, whatever its 
effect on his position or his party, it would not 
leave him so powerless or so humbled in his own 
eyes as a voluntary submission to the terms his 
enemies chose to dictate. 

The alternative of surrender would never have 
crossed his mind, had he been able to think only 
of the political side of the matter. But there was 
another, on which Ben ham’s threats played with 
equal force. The episode of Dick Derosne’s ban- 
ishment had opened his eyes more fully to what 
the revelation might mean to his daughter ; for, 
when he thought over the abrupt end that had 
been put to that romance, he could hardly fail to 
connect it with Benham or with Kilshaw. He 
shrank from the exposure to Daisy which he would 
have to undergo, and from the pain which he was 
doomed to inflict on her. Long years, no less than 
his own mode of thought, had veiled from him the 
144 


THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MAN 

character of what he would have to avow ; the thing 
took on a new aspect when he forced himself to 
hear it as it would strike a daughter’s ears. And, 
by this time, he was conscious — he could no longer 
affect to himself to be unconscious — that the blow 
which was to fall on Daisy would strike another 
with equal, perhaps greater, severity. He might 
remind himself, as he did over and over again, of 
the improbability, nay, the absurdity of what had 
happened; he might tell himself that he was no 
longer young, that time had robbed him of any- 
thing that could catch a girl’s fancy, that the gulf 
of birth, associations, and surroundings yawned 
wide between. His own experience and insight 
into temperament rose up and contradicted him, 
and Alicia Derosne’s face drove the truth into 
his mind. Seeking for a hero, she had strangely, 
almost comically, he thought, made one of him. 
Hero-worship, shutting out all criticism, had led 
her on till she made of him, a man whose life bore 
no close scrutiny, a battered politician, half vision- 
ary, half demagogue (for he did not spare himself 
in his thoughts) — till she had made of him an ideal 
statesman and a man worthy of all she had to give. 
A swift and gentle disenchantment was the best 
that could be wished for her : so he told himself, 
but he did not wish it. Time had not altogether 
changed him, and a woman’s smile was to him still 
a force in his life, as much as it had been, or almost, 
when it led the boy of twenty-three to do all those 
rash and wrong things long ago. He could not 
bear to shut the door: dreaming of impossible 
transformations of obstinate facts, he drifted on, 
excusing himself for doing nothing by telling him- 
self that there was nothing he could do. 

145 


HALF A HERO 


Mr. Kilshaw’s information as to the Governor’s 
attitude had not been entirely incorrect, but, after 
an interview with the Premier, in which the latter 
explained his action, Lord Eynesford did not feel 
that more was required than a temperately ex- 
pressed surprise and a hinted disapproval of the 
course adopted. He declined his wife’s invitation 
to regard the matter in the most serious light, or 
to attribute any heinous offence to the Premier, 
contenting himself with remarking that Medland 
had a more powerful motive to maintain order than 
any one else ; he also ventured to suggest that the 
best way of considering the question was not 
through a mist of prejudice against the Premier 
and all his belongings. 

“ Whatever you may do, Mary,” he said, “I 
must keep the private and public sides separate.” 

44 That’s just what you don’t do,” retorted his 
wife — let it be added that they were alone. 4 4 The 
man has got round you as he gets round every- 
body.” 

“You, at least, seem safe so far,” laughed the 
Governor. 44 Aren’t you content with your trk 
umph in the matter of Dick ? ” 

44 1 heard from him to-day. He wants to come 
back.” 

Dick had obtained leave to visit Australia, in- 
stead of going home, and was therefore within com- 
paratively easy distance of New Lindsey. 

44 Oh, I think we’ll wait a bit.” 

44 He seems to be having a splendid time, but he 
says he’s lonely without us all.” 

44 How touching ! ” remarked Lord Eynesford 
sceptically. 

44 Willie, be just to him. I was thinking how 
146 


THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MAN 


nice it would be if Alicia could join him for a little 
while. She’s looking pale and wants a change.” 

44 Does she want to go ? ” 

“Well, I don’t know.” 

44 Haven’t you asked her ? ” 

44 No, dear.” 

Lord Eynesford knew his wife’s way. He rose 
and stood with his back to the fireplace. 

44 You’ll be sending me away next, Mary,” he 
remarked. 44 What’s wrong with Alicia ? She 
doesn’t show signs of relenting about your friend 
Coxon, does she ? If so, she shall go by the next 
boat, if I have to exert the prerogative.” 

44 Mr. Coxon ? Oh, dear, no ! Poor man ! There’s 
no danger from him.” 

44 What’s in the wind then ? ” 

44 She’s too intimate with these Medlands.” 

“My dear Mary! Forgive me, but you’re in 
danger of becoming a monomaniac. The Medlands 
are not lepers.” 

Lady Eynesford shut her lips close and made no 
answer. 

44 What harm can they do her ? ” pursued the 
Governor. “Daisy’s a nice girl, and Medland — 
well, the worst he can do is to make her a Radical, 
and it doesn’t matter two straws what she is.” 

Lady Eynesford’s foot tapped on the floor. 

44 I suppose you’ll laugh at me,” she said. 4 4 In- 
deed it’s absurd enough to make any one laugh, 
but, Willie, I’m not quite sure that Alicia isn’t too 
much ” 

The sentence was cut short by the entrance of 
Alicia herself. 

44 Ah ! A1 ! ” cried the Governor. 44 Come here. 
Would you like to join Dick in Australia? ” 

147 


HALF A HERO 


Alicia started. 

“ He says he’s lonely, and I thought it would 
be such a nice trip for you,” added Lady Eynes- 
ford. 

“ Dick lonely ! What nonsense ! It only means 
he wants to come back, Mary.” 

Dick’s pathos was evidently a broken reed. 
Lady Eynesford let it go, and said, 

“ Anyhow, you might take advantage of his be- 
ing there to see Australia.” 

“ I don’t want to see Australia,” answered Alicia. 
“ I much prefer New Lindsey.” 

“ You don’t jump at Mary’s proposal? ” 

“ I utterly decline,” laughed Alicia, and, taking 
the book she had come in search of, she went out. 

“You see. She won’t go,” remarked Lady 
Eynesford. 

“ I never thought she would. What were you 
going to say when she came in ? ” 

Lady Eynesford rose and stood by her husband. 

“ Willie,” she said, “what is it about the Med- 
lands ? I’m tired of not knowing whether there is 
anything or whether there isn’t.” 

“ I don’t know, my dear. There’s some gossip, 
I believe,” said Lord Eynesford discreetly. 

“ Do you know what Mrs. Puttock said to 
Eleanor ? Eleanor ought to have told me at once, 
but she only did last night. Eleanor asked some- 
thing about his wife, and Mrs. Puttock said, ‘ For 
my part, I don’t believe he ever had a wife.’” 
Lady Eynesford repeated the all-important sen- 
tence with scrupulous accuracy. 

“By Jove!” exclaimed the Governor. “That 
was what — ” He checked himself before Kilshaw’s 
name could leave his lips. 

148 


THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MAN 


“ Yes ? Now, Willie, if that’s true or — or any- 
thing like it, you know, is it right for Alicia to be 
constantly with Daisy Medland and — and in and 
out of the house, you know ? ” 

The Governor looked grave. The thing was 
tangible enough now, and demanded to be dealt 
with more urgently than it ever had before. 

“ It’s a pity Eleanor didn’t speak sooner,” he said. 

“ She thought less of it because Mrs. Puttock is 
a vulgar old gossip.” 

“ Yes ; but I’m afraid there may be something 
in it. Why did Eleanor tell you now ? ” 

“ Because I was speaking to her about the way 
Mr. Medland monopolised Alicia in the Park the 
other afternoon.” 

“ Oh, that was my fault.” 

“It makes no difference how it came about. 
Willie, she had eyes and ears for no one else,” and 
Lady Eynesford’s voice became very earnest. 

“ But it’s preposterous, Mary. You must be 
wrong. There couldn’t possibly be anything of the 
kind.” 

“You know the sort of girl she is,” his wife went 
on. “ She’s — well, she’s easily caught by an idea, 
and rather romantic, and — really, dear, we ought 
to be careful.” 

“ I can’t believe it. If it’s true, Medland has 
treated me very badly.” 

“ What does he care ? ” asked Lady Eynesford. 
“ How I wish she would go away! Nothing I say 
seems to make any impression on her.” 

“ Perhaps Medland has noticed nothing, even if 
you’re right about Alicia.” 

“ He couldn’t help noticing.” 

“ What ? Do you mean she makes it ? ” 

149 


HALF A HERO 


“ I don’t want to say anything unkind, but — 
well, yes, I’m afraid she does.” 

The Governor took a pace along the room. 

“ Upon my word,” he exclaimed impatiently, 
“ the way we get mixed up with these people is 
absurdly awkward. First there’s Dick ” 

“ That’s nothing to this. Dick was never really 
serious, and Alicia’s always serious, if she thinks 
about a thing at all.” 

“ W ell, well, of course it must be stopped. 
What are you going to do? ” 

“ She must be told,” said Lady Eynesford, 

“ I won’t tell her.” 

“ Then I must.” 

“ I wonder if you’re not wrong after all.” 

“ Oh, watch them ! ” retorted Lady Eynesford, 
and, leaving her husband, she sought Alicia and in- 
vited her to come and have a talk in the veranda. 

Alicia, when thus summoned, was sitting with 
Eleanor Scaife, and they were both watching 
Captain Heseltine’s fox terrier jump over a walk- 
ing-stick under his master’s tuition. It was a suit- 
able enough amusement for a hot day ; and it was 
engrossing enough to prevent Eleanor raising her 
eyes at the sound of Lady Eynesford’s voice. In 
fact, she was not over and above anxious to meet 
that lady’s glance. Eleanor had, in the light of 
recent events, grown rather doubtful of the wisdom 
of her wonderful discretion, and Lady Eynesford 
had intimated, with her usual clearness of state- 
ment, a decided opinion that not Eleanor, but she 
herself was the proper person to judge what should 
and should not be told to Alicia. She had enforced 
her moral by hinting at very distressing conse- 
quences which might follow on Eleanor’s unfortu- 
nate reticence. 150 


THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MAN 


“ I sometimes think,” Eleanor remarked to 
Heseltine, when Alicia had left them, “ that perfect 
openness and candour are always best.” 

Captain Heseltine lowered the walking-stick and 
looked at her with an air of expectancy. 

“ It saves so much misunderstanding, if you tell 
everybody everything right out,” continued Elea- 
nor. 

“ For my part,” returned Heseltine, with an 
earnestness which he rarely displayed, ‘ ‘ I differ 
utterly. I’ve never in my life told anybody any- 
thing without being sorry I hadn’t held my 
tongue.” 

“ Oh, you mean your private affairs.” 

“ Well, and you ? Oh, I see. You only mean 
other people’s. Agreed, agreed ! Perfect open- 
ness and candour about them by all means ! ” 

46 1 am quite serious. One never knows how 
much harm may be done by concealing them.” 

“ Got a murder on your conscience ? ” 

“ Oh, not exactly,” sighed Eleanor. 

“ You’re like that chap Kilshaw. He’s always 
talking as if he had something awful up his sleeve.” 

“ Perhaps he has.” 

As Eleanor said this, she jumped up and ran to 
meet Alicia, whom she saw coming toward her. 
Lady Eynesford had wasted no time over her task. 

The Captain, being left alone, did the appropri- 
ate thing. He soliloquised. 

“ She’d have told me in another half-minute,” 
said he, with a chuckle. “ It was choking her. 
Yet she’s a sensible one as they go.” 

Whom or what class he meant by “ they ” it is 
merciful to his ignorant prejudices to leave unre- 
vealed. 


151 


CHAPTER XVIII 

BY AN OVERSIGHT OF SOCIETY’S 

Francois Gaspard was a pleasant and cheerful 
man, good company, and genial to his neighbours 
and comrades, but it may be doubted whether 
Society had not made a grave mistake in not 
hanging him at the earliest opportunity. In his 
younger days he had lived in perpetual warfare 
against Society, its institutions and constitutions — 
a warfare that he carried on without scruple and 
without quarter : he would have had no cause for 
complaint had he been dealt with on this basis of 
his own choosing. Society, however, had chosen 
to fancy that it could reform Francois, or, failing 
that, could keep him alive and yet harmless. 
Thanks to this sanguine view, he found himself, at 
the age of forty -five, a free man in New Lindsey ; 
and, thinking that he and his native country had 
had about enough of one another, he had enrolled 
himself as a subject of her Majesty, and had 
plunged into the affairs of his new home with his 
usual energy. Francois was not indeed quite the 
man he had been in his palmy time, his nerve was 
not so good, and his life was more comfortable, 
and therefore not so lightly to be risked ; but he 
had made no renunciations, and often regretted 
that New Lindsey was a barren soil, wherein the 
seed he sowed bore little fruit. He could not be 
happy without a secret society, and that he had 
established in Kirton; but it was, he ruefully 
152 


BY AN OVERSIGHT OF SOCIETY’S 


admitted, hardly more than a toy, a mockery, the 
merest simulacrum . The members displayed no 
alacrity ; they were but five all told, besides him- 
self: a bookseller’s assistant, a watchmaker (he 
was a German, but the larger cause harmonised 
all differences), two artisans, and — what is either 
natural or strange, according to one’s estimation 
of parliamentary government — a doorkeeper in the 
Houses of Parliament. They used to meet at 
Gaspard’s lodgings, regret, in tones as loud as 
prudence permitted, the abuses of the status quo , 
spend a social evening, and return to the outer 
world with a tickling sense of mystery and poten- 
tial destructiveness. Gaspard held the very lowest 
opinion of them ; he acknowledged that the “ prop- 
aganda by action” took small root in New Lind- 
sey, and when it came into his head that Mr. 
Benham was worse than superfluous, he admitted 
with a shrug the great difficulties that lay in the 
way of removing his acquaintance. A man could 
not do everything by himself, the matter was after 
all not very pressing, and he almost made up his 
mind to let Mr. Benham live. Such was the chain 
of his reflections, and if Society had clearly realised 
the way he looked at such things, it can hardly be 
supposed that Gaspard would have been left un- 
hanged. 

Nevertheless, almost academic as the question 
was, Gaspard indulged his humour by hinting to 
his associates that, in certain contingencies, there 
might be work for their hands. He would not be 
more explicit, for he was distrustful of them ; but 
this vague hint was quite enough to cause some 
perturbation. The bookseller’s assistant turned 
rather pale, and expressed a preference for waiting 
153 


HALF A HERO 


till one final, decisive, and overwhelming blow 
could be struck. He was understood to favour a 
wholesale massacre at Government House, but 
reminded his hearers of the dangers of hasty 
action. The watchmaker was strong on the 
division of functions : one man was valuable in 
counsel, another in the field; he belonged, he said, 
to the former category. The artisans smiled 
broadly over their drink, and openly declared that 
the President must “ give ’em a lead.” The door- 
keeper reinforced this suggestion by reminding 
them that he was a husband and father, whereas 
Gaspard was a bachelor. All united in asking 
for further information, and were annoyed when 
Gaspard referred them to the rule governing such 
associations as theirs, namely, that the member to 
carry out the deed, if resolved upon, should be 
designated before the nature of the deed was dis- 
cussed, or its desirability finally decided. If this 
were not so, he pointed out, a member’s opinion 
on the merits of the scheme might be biassed by 
the knowledge that he would, if fate so willed, 
have to carry it out. According to his rule, the 
designated member had no vote. 

“Not know who it is?” exclaimed the door- 
keeper. “ Why, a man might be asked to take 
off his own brother ! ” 

“ Perfectly,” smiled Gaspard. “ It is to avoid 
any painful conflict of duties that the rule exists.” 
He looked round the table with a broader smile, 
and added — “ Shall it be the lot ? ” 

The feeling of the meeting was against the lot. 
They preferred to choose their man. 

“Let’s vote by ballot,” suggested the watch- 
maker. 


154 


BY AN OVERSIGHT OF SOCIETY’S 

“ Agreed ! ” cried Gaspard, and they flung 
folded scraps of paper into a hat. 

There was one vote for the doorkeeper: it 
came out first, and the doorkeeper wiped a bead 
of sweat from his brow. But soon he smiled 
again ; the other four were all for Gaspard, 
who returned thanks for the honour in a few 
words. 

44 As soon as the information is complete, I will 
summon you again,” he said, dismissing them, and 
lighting his cigarette with a chuckle of mockery. 
Really, it seemed impossible to do anything with 
these creatures, and Gaspard did not feel quite so 
eager as he used to be to put his own neck in the 
noose. If he acted, he must, probably, fly from 
New Lindsey, and he was very comfortable and 
doing very well there. No; on second thoughts 
he doubted if the duty of removing Mr. Benham 
was absolutely imperative. 

Meanwhile Benham would have been much sur- 
prised to hear that his latter end was a subject of 
dispassionate contemplation to the little French- 
man. No subject was more remote from his own 
thoughts. He was in high feather, the hour was 
fast approaching which was to witness his triumph 
and his revenge ; the gag would soon be taken 
from his mouth, and his deadly disclosure would 
smite Medland like a sword. His sentiment was 
satisfied with the prospect, and Kilshaw took care 
that his pocket should have nothing to complain 
of. He refused indeed to provide for Benham in 
his own employ for obvious reasons ; but he prom- 
ised him a strong, though private, recommen- 
dation to an important house, in addition to the 
agreed price of his information, which was a thou- 
11 155 


HALF A HERO 


sand pounds, half to be paid in advance. The 
first five hundred pounds was paid on the day 
before the Premier’s great meeting, for, if the 
Ministry weathered Monday’s storm, the last 
weapon in the arsenal was to be brought into use. 
So said Mr. Kilshaw, still hoping to avoid the 
necessity, still resolute to face it if he must. Ben- 
ham took his money and went his way, with one 
of those familiar, confidential looks and jocular 
speeches which filled Kilshaw’s cup of disgust to 
the brim. Whenever the man did that sort of 
thing, Kilshaw was within an ace of kicking him 
down-stairs and throwing away the poisoned 
weapon ; but he never did. 

Mere chance willed that as Gaspard on Saturday 
evening was going home, having done a hard day’s 
work at organising a trade procession for the next 
day, he should fall in with Benham. He stopped 
to speak, feeling an interest in all that concerned 
the man; and Benham, radiant and effusive from 
the process of “ moistening his luck,” would not be 
satisfied till Gaspard had agreed to sup with him 
and at his charges. 

“ Oh, if you like to do a good deed to an enemy,”' 
laughed the Frenchman, letting the other seize him 
by the arm and lead him off ; and he thought to 
himself that he might as well spare so liberal a 
host. Might there not be other suppers in the 
future ? Dead men, if they told no tales, paid for 
no suppers either. 

After the meal they had another bottle of wine, 
and Benham called for a pack of cards. Francis 
won, and politely apologised. 

“It is too bad of me,” he said, “after your hos- 
pitality, mon cher .” 


156 


BY AN OVERSIGHT OF SOCIETY’S 


“ Oh, five pound won’t hurt me, or ten either,” 
cried Benham, draining his glass. 

“ No ? Happy man ! ” 

“ I know where money comes from,” continued 
Benham, with a wink. 

“ Ah, a man who knows what you do ! ” retorted 
Gaspard. “ Have you forgotten telling me — you 
know — about our good Medland ? ” 

“ Did I tell you ? Well, I had forgotten. Who 
cares ! It’s true — every word.” 

“ Oh, I don’t say it isn’t,” laughed Gaspard 
incredulously. 

“ But you don’t believe it is ? ” 

“We can’t help our thoughts, but — ” and an- 
other laugh ended his sentence. 

Benham looked round. They were alone. Cau- 
tiously he drew a bag of money and a roll of 
notes from his pocket. For a moment he opened 
the bag and showed the gleam inside ; wetting his 
forefinger, he parted the notes for a second. 

“ Some one believes it,” he said, “ up to five 
hundred pound.” 

“That’s the sort of belief I’d like to inspire,” 
laughed Gaspard, watching the money back into 
its pocket with a curious eye. 

“ Come, you’re not drinking,” urged the hospi- 
table Benham. 

“ You don’t show me the way,” untruthfully 
answered the guest, as Benham complacently but- 
toned up his coat, little imagining that his neigh- 
bour was weighing a question, very momentous 
to him, in the light of fresh information. 

Five hundred pounds ! The duty of removing 
Benham began to look rather imperative again, 
but from a different point of view. Francois had 
157 


HALF A HERO 


of late worked for his living, a mode of existence 
which seemed to him anomalous, and ill suited to 
his genius. Five hundred pounds meant, to a man 
of his frugal habits and tact in eliciting hospitality, 
three years’ comfortable idleness. It was no doubt 
apparent now that Benham had already parted 
with his secret, and that, if anything happened to 
him, the secret would still remain to vex the good 
Medland. Gaspard regretted this ; he would have 
liked to combine public and private advantage in 
the job. But a man must not ask everything, or 
he may end by having to take nothing. Here sat 
a drunken fool with five hundred pounds ; oppo- 
site to him sat a sober sharp-wit with only five. 
The situation was full of suggestion. If the five 
hundred could be got from the fool without vio- 
lence, well and good ; but really, thought Mr. 
Gaspard, their transference to the sharp- wit must 
be effected somehow, or that sharp- wit had no title 
to the name. 

“ Care to play any more ? ” asked Benham. 

“Not I, my friend, I have robbed you enough.” 

“ And about time for the luck to turn, isn’t it ? 
Well, I don’t care ! What shall we do ? ” 

“What you will,” answered the Frenchman 
absently. 

Benham pulled his beard, then leant forward and 
put a question with an intoxicated leer. A laugh 
of feigned reproof burst from Gaspard. Benham 
seemed to urge him, and at last he said, 

“ Oh, if you’re bent on it, I can be your guide.” 

The two men left the house arm-in-arm, went 
down the street, and crossed Digby Square. It 
was late, and few people were about, but Gaspard 
saw one acquaintance. The doorkeeper was stroll- 
158 


BY AN OVERSIGHT OF SOCIETY’S 

in g along on his way home, and Gaspard bade him 
good-night in a cheery voice as they passed him. 
The doorkeeper stood and watched the pair for a 
minute as they left the Square and turned down a 
narrow street which led to the poorer part of the 
town, and thence to the quays. He heard Gas- 
pard’s high-pitched voice and shrill laughter, and, 
in answer, Benham’s thick tones and heavy shout 
of drunken mirth. Once or twice these sounds 
repeated themselves, then they ceased ; the foot- 
steps of the Frenchman and his companion died 
away in the distance. The doorkeeper went on 
his way, thinking with relief that Mr. Gaspard, for 
all his tall talk, was more at home with a bottle 
than with a knife or a bomb. 

Notwithstanding his dissipation, Gaspard was 
afoot very early in the morning. It was hardly 
light, and the deep scratch of finger-nails on his 
face — it is so awkward when drunken fools wake 
at the wrong minute — attracted no attention from 
the few people he encountered. He did not give 
them long to look at him, for he hurried swiftly 
through the streets, toward the quays where the 
ships lay loading their cargoes. He seemed to 
have urgent business to transact down there, busi- 
ness that would brook no delay, and that was, if 
one might guess from his uneasy glances over his 
shoulder, of a private nature. With one hand he 
held tight hold of something in his trousers pocket, 
the other rested on his belt, hard by a little revol- 
ver. In his business it is necessary to be ready for 
everything. 

Meanwhile Mr. Benham, having no affairs to 
trouble him, and no more business to transact, 
stayed where he was. 


159 


CHAPTER XIX 


LAST CHANCES 

At an early hour on Sunday all Kirton seemed 
astir. The streets were alive with thronging peo- 
ple, with banners, with inchoate and still amorphous 
processions, with vendors of meat, drink, and news- 
papers. According to the official arrangements, 
the proceedings were not to begin till one o’clock, 
and, in theory, the forenoon hours were left undis- 
turbed ; but, what with the people who were tak- 
ing part in the demonstration, and those who were 
going to look on, and those who hoped to suck 
some profit to themselves out of the day’s work, 
the ordinary duties and observances of a Sunday 
were largely neglected, and Mr. Puttock, passing 
on his way to chapel at the head of his family, did 
not lack material for reprobation in the temporary 
superseding of religious obligations. 

The Governor and his family drove to the Cathe- 
dral, according to their custom, Eleanor Scaife hav^ 
ing pleaded in vain for leave to walk about the 
streets instead. Lady Eynesford declined to rec- 
ognise the occasion, and Eleanor had to content 
herself with stealthy glances to right and left till 
the church doors engulfed her. The only absentee 
was Alicia Derosne, and she was not walking about 
the streets, but sitting under the veranda, with a 
book unopened on her knees, and her eyes set in 
empty fixedness on the horizon. The luxuriant 
growth of a southern summer filled her nostrils 
160 


LAST CHANCES 


with sweet scents, and the wind, blowing off the 
sea, tempered the heat to a fresh and balmy 
warmth; the waves sparkled in the sun, and the 
world was loud in boast of its own beauty; but 
poor Alicia, like many a maid before, was wonder- 
ing how long this wretched life was to last, and 
how any one was ever happy. Faith bruised and 
trust misplaced blotted out for her the joy of living 
and the exultation of youth. If these things were 
true, why did the sun shine, and how could the 
world be merry ? If these things were true, for 
her the sun shone no more, and the merriment was 
stilled for ever. So she thought, and, if she were 
not right, it needed a philosopher to tell her so ; 
and then she would not have believed him, but 
caught her woe closer to her heart, and nursed it 
with fiercer tenderness against his shallow prating. 
Perhaps he might have told her, too, that it is cruel 
kindness unasked to set people on a pinnacle, and, 
when they cannot keep foothold on that slippery 
height, to scorn their fall. Other things such an 
one might well have said, but more wisely left un- 
said; for cool reason is a blister to heartache, and 
heartache is not best cured by blisters. Never yet 
did a child stop crying for being told its pain was 
nought and would soon be gone. Yet this pre- 
scription had been Lady Eynesford’s — although 
she was no philosopher, to her knowledge — for Ali- 
cia, and it had left the patient protesting that she 
felt no pain at all, and yet feeling it all the more. 

“What do you accuse me of? Why do you 
speak to me ? ” she had burst out. “ What is it to 
me what he has done or not done ? What do you 
mean, Mary?” 

Before this torrent of questions Lady Eynesford 
161 


HALF A HERO 


tactfully retreated a little way. A warning against 
hasty love dwindled to an appeal whether so much 
friendliness, such constant meetings, either with 
daughter or with father, were desirable. 

“ I’m sure I’m sorry for the poor child,” she said ; 
“ but in this world ” 

“ Suppose it’s all a slander ! ” 

“ My dear Alicia, do they say such things about 
a man in his position unless there’s something in 
them ? ” 

“ It’s nothing to me,” said Alicia again. 

“ Of course, you can do nothing abrupt ; but 
you’ll gradually withdraw from their acquaintance, 
won’t you ? ” 

Alicia had escaped without a promise, pleading 
for time to think in the same breath that she de- 
nied any concern in the matter. She was by way 
of thinking now, and all that Lady Eynesford had 
said repeated itself in her mind as she looked out 
on the garden and the glimpses of the town be- 
yond. She understood now Dick’s banishment, her 
sister-in-law’s unresting hostility to the Medlands, 
and the reason why she had been pressed to go to 
Australia. She spared a minute to grief for Daisy, 
but her own sorrow would not be denied, and en- 
grossed her again. In the solitude she had sought, 
she cried to herself, “ Why didn’t they tell me be- 
fore ? What’s the use of telling me now ? ” Then 
she would fly back to the hope that the thing was 
not true, that her friends had clutched too hastily 
at anything which would save her from what they 
dreaded, and, she confessed to herself, rightly 
dreaded. No, she would not believe it yet; and, 
if it were not true, why should she not be happy ? 
Why should she not, even though she did what 
162 


LAST CHANCES 


Dick had not dared to do, and what, when Coxon 
asked her, she had laughed at for an absurd- 
ity? 

There began to be more movement outside the 
gates. The first note of band-music was wafted to 
her ear, and the roll of wheels announced the return 
of the church-goers. She roused herself and went 
to meet them. They were agog with excitement, 
partly about the meeting, partly about the murder. 
While Eleanor was trying to tell her of the state 
of popular feeling, the Governor seized her arm and 
began to detail the story of the discovery. 

64 You remember the man ? ” he asked. 44 He was 
at our flower-show — had a sort of row with Med- 
land, you know. Well, he’s been found murdered 
(so the police think) in a low part of the town ! 
The woman who keeps the house found him. He 
didn’t come down in the morning, and, as she 
couldn’t make him hear, she forced the door, and 
found him with his throat cut.” 

44 Awful ! ” shuddered Lady Eynesford. 44 He 
looked such a respectable man too.” 

44 Ah, I fancy he’d gone a bit to the bad lately — 
taken to drinking and so on.” 

44 He was a friend of Mr. Kilshaw’s, wasn’t he ? ” 
asked Alicia. 

44 A sort of hanger-on, I think. Anyhow, there 
he was dead, and with his pockets empty.” 

44 Perhaps he killed himself,” she suggested. 

44 They think not. They’ve arrested the woman, 
but she declares she knows nothing about it ! ” 

44 Poor man ! ” said Alicia ; and, at another time, 
she might have thought a good deal about the 
horrible end of a man whom she had known as an 
acquaintance. But, as it w^as, she soon forgot him 
163 


HALF A HERO 

again, and, leaving the rest, returned to her solitary 
seat. 

In the town, the news of the murder was but one 
ruffle more on the wave of excitement, and not a 
very marked one. Few people knew Benham’s 
name, and when the first agitation following on the 
discovery of the body died away and the onlookers 
found there was no news to be had, they turned 
away to join the processions or to stare at them. 
The police were left to pursue their investigations 
in peace, and they soon reached a conclusion. The 
landlady of the house where Benham died lived 
alone, save for the occasional presence of her son : 
he was away at work in an outlying district, and 
she had been the only person in the house that 
night. She let beds to single men, she said, and 
the night before two men had arrived, one the 
worse for drink. They had asked for adjoining 
rooms. As they went up-stairs, she had heard the 
one who had been drinking say to the other, “ What 
are you bringing me here for ? This isn’t the place 
for what I want.” His companion, the shorter of 
the two, whom she thought she would know again, 
had answered — “ All in good time ; you go and lie 
down, and I’ll fetch what you want.” Soon after, 
the short one came down and asked if she had any 
brandy; she gave him a bottle half full and he 
went up-stairs again. She heard voices raised as if 
in dispute for a few minutes, and one of them — she 
could not say which — said something which sounded 
like “ Well, finish the drink first, and then I’ll go.” 
Silence followed, at least she could not hear any 
more talking ; and presently, it not being her busi- 
ness to spy on gentlemen, she went to bed, and 
knew nothing more till she woke at seven o’clock. 

164 


LAST CHANCES 


Going up-stairs, she found one door open and the 
room empty, not the room the two men had been in 
together, but the other. The second door was locked, 
and she did not knock ; gentlemen often slept late. 
At half-past ten she ventured to knock, got no an- 
swer, knocked again and again, and finally, with the 
help of the man from next door, broke the lock and 
found the taller of the two men dead on the bed. 
She had at once summoned the police ; and that, 
she concluded, was all she knew about the matter, 
and she was a respectable, hard-working woman, 
a widow who could produce her marriage certifi- 
cate in case any person present desired to in- 
spect it. 

The Superintendent listened to her protestations 
of virtue with an ironical smile, told her the police 
knew her house very well, frightened her whole- 
somely, took down her very vague description of 
the missing man, and kept her in custody ; but he 
did not seriously doubt the truth of her story, and, 
if it were true, the man he wanted was evidently 
the sober man, the shorter man, who had intro- 
duced his friend to the house on a pretext, had 
called for drink, and vanished in the early morning, 
leaving a dead man behind him. Who was this man ? , 
Where did he come from ? Had he been missing 
since last night ? On these inquiries the Superin- 
tendent launched several intelligent men, and then 
was forced for the time to turn his attention to the 
business of the day. 

To search a large town for a missing man takes 
time, and the searchers did not happen to fall in 
with Company B of Procession 3, which at one 
o’clock had mustered in Digby Square, prepared 
to march to the Public Park. Had they done so, 
165 


HALF A HERO 


it might or might not have seemed to them worth 
noticing that Company B of Procession 3, which 
was composed of carpenters and joiners, had missed 
some one, namely the officer whom they called 
their “ Marshal,” and who was to have ordered their 
ranks and marched at their head ; and the name of 
their Marshal was none other than Francois Gas- 
pard. The Superintendent himself was keeping 
watch over Company B, but, in a professionally 
Olympian scorn of processions, he was far from 
asking or caring to know who the Marshal was, 
and indeed, if he had known, he would scarcely 
have drawn such a lightning-quick inference as that 
the missing Marshal and the missing murderer were 
one and the same. So Mr. Gaspard’s absence was 
passed over with a few curses on his laziness, or, 
from the more charitable, a surmise that there had 
been a misunderstanding, and Company B, having 
appointed a new Marshal, went on its way. 

One demonstration of the public will is much 
like another in the shape it takes and the incidents 
it produces. This Sunday’s was, however, as friends 
and foes agreed, remarkable not only for the num- 
bers who took part, but still more for the spirit 
which animated it, and when the Premier and his 
colleagues made their appearance on the great 
platform there was no room to doubt that some- 
how, by his gifts or his faults, his policy or his 
demagogic arts, his love of humanity or his adroit 
wooing of popularity, Medland held a position 
in the eyes of the common people of the capi- 
tal which had seldom or never been equalled in 
the history of the Colony. He had caused them 
to be called together in order to raise their enthu- 
siasm, and to elicit from them a visible, unmistaka- 
166 


LAST CHANCES 

ble pledge of support. But, when he stood before 
them, bare-headed, in vain beckoning for silence, 
their cries and cheers told him that his task was 
rather to moderate than to stir up, and the first 
part of his speech was a somewhat laboured proof 
of the consistency of gatherings of that nature with 
the proper independence of representative assem- 
blies. The people heard him through this argu- 
ment in respectful silence, clapping their hands 
when, at the end of it, he paused before he passed 
to the second part of his speech. At the first sign 
of attack, at the first quietly drawn contrast be- 
tween what the seceders had promised and what 
they were doing, his audience was a changed one. 
Fierce murmurs of assent and groans became audi- 
ble now, and when Medland, caught by the conta- 
gion that spread to him from his listeners, gave rein 
to his feelings, and launched into a passionate dec- 
laration that, to his mind, the liberty claimed for 
members did not mean liberty to betray those who 
had trusted them, the murmurs and groans rose 
into one tumult of savage applause, and men raised 
both hands over their heads and shook them, as 
though they would have clenched every word that 
fell from him with a blow of the fist. 

Daisy Medland sat just behind her father, exult- 
ing in his triumph, and, at every happy stroke, 
glancing at Norburn, and by sharing her joy with 
him doubling his. When the Premier had finished, 
and the last resolution had been carried, she ran to 
him, crying, 44 Splendid ! I never heard you so 
good. Wasn’t he splendid ? ” and looking so com- 
pletely joyful that Medland was sure she must 
quite have forgotten Dick Derosne. She took his 
arm, and they made their way together to a carriage 
167 


HALF A HERO 


which was in waiting. An escort of police sur- 
rounded it, to save the Premier from his friends, 
and he, with Daisy, Norburn, and Mr. Floyd, the 
Treasurer, got in without disturbance. The coach- 
man drove off rapidly down the main avenue, dis- 
tancing the enthusiasts who would have had the 
horses out of the shafts. They passed a long row 
of carriages, belonging to people who had not feared 
to come and look on from a distance, and at last, 
knowing the procession would go back another 
way, Medland bade his driver stop under the trees, 
and lit a cigar. 

“And I wonder if it will all make any differ- 
ence ! ” said he, puffing delightedly. He had all 
an old political organiser’s love for a big meeting, 
which does not exclude scepticism as to its value. 

“ Oh, you gave it ’em finely,” said the Treasurer. 

“ I believe it’ll frighten two or three anyhow,” 
observed Norburn. 

“ I know we shall win to-morrow,” cried Daisy, 
squeezing her father’s arm. 

“Ah! here’s a special Sunday evening paper — 
how we encourage wickedness ! ” said the Premier, 
seeing a newsvendor approaching. “Let’s see 
what they say of us ! ” 

“I’ve seen it all for myself,” remarked Daisy, 
and she went on chattering to the other two, who 
were ready to talk over every incident of the meet- 
ing, as people who have been to meetings ever are. 
On they went, reminding one another of the bald 
man in the third row who cheered so lustily, of the 
fat woman who had somehow got into the front 
row and fanned herself all the time, of rude things 
shouted about Messrs. Puttock and Coxon, and so 
forth. The Premier, listening with one ear, opened 


LAST CHANCES 


his paper ; but the first thing he saw was not about 
his procession. He started and looked closer, then 
gave a sudden, covert glance at his companions ; 
they were busy in talk, and, with breathless haste, he 
devoured the meagre details of Benham’s wretched 
death. The end reached, he let the paper fall on 
his knees, lay back, and took a long pull at his 
cigar. He was shocked — yes, he supposed he was 
shocked. He had known the man, and it was 
shocking to think of his throat being cut ; yes, he 
had known him, and he didn’t like to think of that. 
But — The Premier gave a long-drawn sigh of 
relief. That unknown murderer’s hand had done 
great things for him. His daughter was safe now 
- — anyhow, she was safe. She could never be sub- 
ject to the degradation the dead man had once 
hinted at ; and when he thought of what the man 
had threatened, pity for him died out of Medland’s 
heart. More — although Kilshaw no doubt knew 
something — there was a chance that Benham had 
kept his own counsel, and that his employer would 
be helpless without his aid. Medland’s sanguine 
mind caught eagerly at the chance, and in a mo- 
ment turned it into a hope — almost a conviction. 
Then the whole thing would go down to the grave 
with the unlucky man, and not even its spectre 
survive to trouble him. For if no one had certain 
knowledge, if there were never more than gossip, 
growing, as time passed, fainter and fainter from 
having no food to feed on, would not utter silence 
follow at last, so that the things that had been 
might be as if they had never been ? ” 

“ Well, what do they say about us ? ” asked the 
Treasurer. 

“Oh, nothing much,” he answered, thrusting 
169 


HALF A HERO 


the paper behind him with a careless air. He did 
not want to discuss what the paper had told him. 

“ What’s happened to-day,” said Daisy, “ ought 
to make all the difference, oughtn’t it, father? ” 

“ I hope it will,” replied the Premier ; but, for 
once in his life, he was not thinking most about 
political affairs. 


170 


CHAPTER XX 


THE LAW VERSUS RULE 3 

Among the many tired but satisfied lovers of lib- 
erty who sought their houses that night, while an 
enthusiastic remnant was still parading the streets, 
illuminations yet shining from windows, and weary 
police treading their unending beats, was the door- 
keeper, who had borne a banner in Company A of 
Procession 1. His friend the watchmaker came with 
him, to have a bit of supper and exchange con- 
gratulations and fulminations. Hardly, however, 
had the doorkeeper pledged the cause in a first 
draught when his wife broke in on his oration by 
handing him a letter, which she said a boy in a blue 
jersey had left for him about ten o’clock in the 
morning, just after he had started to join his com- 
pany. The envelope was cheap and coarse ; there 
was no direction outside. The doorkeeper opened 
it. It was addressed to no named person and it 
bore no signature. It was very brief, being con- 
fined to these simple words — “You did not see me 
last night. Remember Rule 3.” 

The doorkeeper laid the letter down, with a hur- 
ried glance at his friend, whose face was buried in 
a mug. He knew the handwriting ; he knew who 
it was that he had not seen ; he remembered Rule 
3, the rule that said — “ The only and inevitable pen- 
alty of treachery is death.” He turned white and 
took a hasty gulp at his liquor. 

“ Who brought this ? ” he asked. 

12 171 


HALF A HERO 


“ I told you,” answered his wife ; 44 a lad in a blue 
jersey; he looked as if he might be from the har- 
bour.” She put food before them, adding as she 
did so — “ I suppose you’ve been too full of your 
politics to hear much about the murder ? ” 

“ The murder? ” exclaimed the watchmaker. The 
doorkeeper crumpled up his letter and stuffed it 
into the pocket of his coat, while his wife read to 
them the story of the discovery. The watchmaker 
listened with interest. 

“ Benham ! ” he remarked. 44 I never heard the 
name, did you ? ” 

“You know him, Ned,” said the doorkeeper’s 
wife ; 4 4 him as Mr. Gaspard used to go about 
with.” 

By a sudden common impulse, the eyes of the 
two men met ; the woman went off to brew them 
a pot of tea, and left them fearfully gazing at one 
another. 

44 What stuff ! ” said the watchmaker uneasily. 
44 It was only his blow. What reason had he — ? ” 
He paused and added, 44 Seen him to-day, Ned?” 

44 No,” answered Ned, fingering his note. 

44 W asn’t he in the procession ? ” 

44 1 didn’t see him.” 

44 When did you see him last ? ” 

The doorkeeper hesitated. 

44 Night of our last committee,” he whispered 
finally. 

44 Oh, there’s nothing in it,” said the watchmaker 
reassuringly. He had not a letter in his pocket. 

The doorkeeper opened his mouth to speak, but 
seeing his wife approaching, he shut it again and 
busied himself with his meal. 

44 What was the letter, Ned ? ” 

172 


THE LAW VERSUS RULE 3 


“ Oh, about the procession,” he answered. 

“ Then you got it too late. Who was it from ? ” 

“ If you’d give us the tea,” he broke out roughly, 
4 4 and let the damned letter alone, it ud be a deal 
better.” 

4 4 La, you needn’t fly out at a woman so,” said 
Mrs. Evans. 44 It ain’t the way to treat his wife, is 
it, Mister ? ” 

44 Mister ” gallantly reproved his friend, but 
pleaded that they were both weary, and weary legs 
made short tempers. Giving them the tea, she left 
them to themselves ; her work was not finished till 
three small children were safely in bed. 

The sensation of having one’s neck for the first 
time within measurable distance of a rope must 
needs be somewhat disquieting. The doorkeeper, 
in spite of his secret society doings, was a timid 
man, with a vastly respectful fear of the law. To 
talk about things, to vapour idly about them over 
the cups, is very different from being actually, even 
though remotely, mixed up in them. Ned Evans 
was a man of some education : he read the papers, 
accounts of crimes and reports of trials ; he had 
heard of accessories after and before the fact. Was 
he not an accessory after the fact ? He fancied 
they did not hang such ; but if they caught him, 
and all that about Gaspard and the society came 
out, would they not call him an accessory before 
the fact? The noose seemed really rather near, 
and in his frightened fancy, as he lay sleepless be- 
side his snoring wife, the rope dangled over his 
head. The poor wretch was between the devil and 
the deep sea — between stern law and cruel Rule 3. 
He dared not toss about, his wife would ask him 
what ailed him ; he lay as still as he could, bitterly 
173 


HALF A HERO 


cursing his folly for mingling in such affairs, bitterly 
cursing the Frenchman who led him on into the 
trap and left him fast there. How could he save his 
neck ? And he restlessly rent the band of his coarse 
night-shirt, that pressed on his throat with a horri- 
ble suggestion of what might be. Where was that 
Gaspard ? Had he fled over the sea ? Ah, if he 
could be sure of that, and sure that the dreaded 
man would not return ! Or was he lurking in 
some secret hole, ready to steal out and avenge a 
violation of Rule 3 ? The doorkeeper had always 
feared the man ; in the lurid light of this deed, 
Gaspard’s image grew into a monster of horror, 
threatening sudden and swift revenge for disobe- 
dience or treachery. No; he must stand firm. 
But what of the police? Well, men sleep some- 
how, and at last he fell asleep, holding the band of 
the night-shirt away from his throat : if he fell 
asleep with that pressing on him, God knew what 
he might dream. 

“Its very lucky,” remarked the Superintendent 
of Police, who had a happy habit of looking at the 
bright side of things, to one of his subordinates, 
“ that this Benham seems to have had no relations 
and precious few friends.” 

“No widows coming crying about,” observed the 
subordinate, with an assenting nod. 

“ Nothing known of him except that he came to 
Kirton a few months back, did nothing, seemed to 
have plenty of money, took his liquor, played a 
hand at cards, hurt nobody, seemingly knew no- 
body.” 

“ Why, I saw him with Mr. Puttock.” 

“Yes; but Mr. Puttock knows nothing of him, 
except that he said he came from Shepherdstown. 

174 


THE LAW VERSUS RULE 3 


That’s why Puttock was civil to him. The place is 
in his constituency.” 

“ Got any idea, sir ? ” the subordinate ventured 
to ask. 

The Superintendent was about to answer in the 
negative, when a detective entered the room. 

“ Well, I’ve found one missing man for you,” 
he said, in a satisfied tone. 

“ One missing man ! ” echoed his superior, scorn- 
fully. “ In a place o’ this size I’d always find you 
twenty.” 

The sergeant went on, unperturbed, 

“ Francis Gaspard, known as politician and 
agitator, didn’t go home to his lodgings in Kettle 
Street last night, was to have acted as Marshal in 
Company B of Procession 3 to-day, didn’t turn up, 
hasn’t turned up to-night, don’t owe any rent, 
hasn’t taken any clothes.” 

“ Oh ! ” said the Superintendent morosely. 
“ Left an address ? ” 

“ Left no address, sir.” 

“ How did he go, and where ? ” 

“ Not known, sir.” 

“ Good Lord ! ” moaned the Superintendent, 
“ and what’s your salary ? ” 

The sergeant’s good-humour was impregnable. 

“ Give me time,” he said, and the sentence was 
almost drowned in a loud knock at the door. 
An instant later Kilshaw rushed in. 

“ What’s this, Dawson ? ” he cried to the Super- 
intendent ; “ what’s this about the murder ? ” 

“You haven’t heard, sir ? ” 

“ I went out of town to avoid this infernal row 
to-day, and am only just back.” 

Dawson smiled discreetly. He could under- 
175 


HALF A HERO 


stand that the proceedings of the day would not 
attract Mr. Kilshaw. 

“But is it true,” Kilshaw went on eagerly, 
“that Mr. Benham has been murdered? ” 

“ Well, it looks like it, sir,” and Dawson gave a 
full account of the circumstances. 

“ And the motive ? ” asked Kilshaw. 

“ Robbery, I suppose. His pockets were empty, 
and according to our information he was generally 
flush of money ; where he got it, I don’t know.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Kilshaw meditatively ; “ his pockets 
empty ! And have you no clew ? ” 

“ Not what you’d call a clew. Did you know 
the gentleman, sir ? ” 

Kilshaw replied by saying that Mr. Puttock had 
introduced Benham to him and the acquaintance had 
continued — it was a political acquaintance purely. 

“ You don’t know anything about him before he 
came here ? ” 

Kilshaw suddenly perceived that he was being 
questioned, whereas his object had been to question. 

“You say,” he observed, “that you haven’t got 
what you’d call a clew. What do you mean? ” 

“ You can tell Mr. Kilshaw, if you like,” said the 
Superintendent to the sergeant, who repeated his 
information. 

“ Gaspard ! why that’s the fellow the Premier — ” 
and Mr. Kilshaw stopped short. After a moment, 
he asked abruptly, “ Were there any papers on the 

“ None, sir.” 

“ I suppose there’s nothing really to connect this 
man Gaspard with it ? ” 

“ Oh, nothing at present, sir. Did you say you’d 

known the deceased before he ? ” 

176 


THE LAW VERSUS RULE 3 


“ If I’m called at the inquest, I shall tell all I 
know,” said Ivilshaw, rising. 44 It’s not much.” 

“ Happen to know if he had any relations, sir ? ” 

44 H’m. He was a widower, I believe.” 

44 Children ? 5 ’ 

44 Really,” said Mr. Kilshaw, with a faint smile, 
44 I don’t know.” 

And he escaped from pertinacious Mr. Dawson 
with some alacrity. When he was outside, he 
stopped suddenly. 44 Shall I tell ’em to apply to 
Medland ? ” he asked himself, with a malicious 
chuckle. 4 4 No, I’ll wait a bit yet,” and he walked 
on, wondering whether by any chance Mr. Benham 
had been done to death to save the Premier. 
This fanciful idea he soon dismissed with a laugh ; 
it never entered his head, prejudiced as he was, to 
think that Medland himself had any hand in the 
matter. After all, he was a man of common sense, 
and he quickly arrived at a conclusion which he 
expressed by exclaiming, 

44 The poor fool’s been showing his money. 
Who’s got my five hundred now, I wonder ? ” 

His wonderings would have been satisfied, had 
Aladdin’s carpet or other magical contrivance 
transported him to where the steamship Pride of 
the South was ploughing her way through the 
waves, bound from Kirton to San Francisco, with 
liberty to touch at several South American ports. 
A thick-set, short man, shipped at the last mo- 
ment as cook’s mate, in substitution for a truant, 
was lying on his back, smoking a cigarette, looking 
up at the bright stars, and ever and again gently 
pressing his hand on a little lump inside his shirt. 
He seemed at peace with all the world, though he 
was ready to be at war, if need be, and his knife, 
177 


HALF A HERO 


burnished and clean, lay handy to his fingers. He 
turned on his side and composed himself to sleep, 
his chest rising and falling with regular, uninter- 
rupted breathing. Once he smiled : he was think- 
ing of Ned Evans, the doorkeeper; then he gave 
himself a little shake, closed his eyes, and forgot 
all the troubles of this weary world. So sleep 
children, so — we are told — the just: so slept 
M. Francis Gaspard, on his way to seek fresh 
woods and pastures new. 


178 


CHAPTER XXI 


ALL THERE WAS TO TELL 

The custom in New Lindsey was that every Mon- 
day during the session of Parliament the Executive 
Council should meet at Government House, and, 
under the presidency of the Governor, formally 
ratify and adopt the arrangements as to the busi- 
ness of the coming week which its members had 
decided upon at their Cabinet meetings. It is to 
be hoped that, in these days, when we all take an 
interest in our Empire, everybody knows that the 
Executive Council is the outward, visible, and 
recognised form of that impalpable, unrecognised, 
all-powerful institution, the Cabinet, consisting in 
fact, though not in theory, of the same persons, 
save that the Governor is present when the meet- 
ing is of the Council, and absent when it is of 
the Cabinet — a difference of less moment than it 
sounds, seeing that, except in extreme cases, the 
Governor has little to do but listen to what is 
going to be done. However, forms doubtless have 
their value, and at any rate they must be observed ; 
so on this Monday morning the Executive Council 
was to meet as usual, although nobody knew 
where the Cabinet would be that time twenty- 
four hours. Lady Eynesford, who wanted her 
husband to drive her out, thought the meeting 
under the circumstances mere nonsense — which it 
very likely was — and said so, which betrayed inex- 
perience, and Alicia Derosne asked what time it 
took place. 


179 


HALF A HERO 


“ Eleven sharp,” said the Governor, and returned 
to the account of the murder. 

Time after time in the last few days Alicia had 
told herself that she could bear it no longer. At 
one moment she believed nothing, the next, 
nothing was too terrible for her to believe; now 
she would fly to Australia, or home, or anywhere 
out of New Lindsey; now a straightforward chal- 
lenge to Medland alone would serve her turn. 
Sometimes she felt as if she could put the whole 
thing on one side ; five minutes later found her 
pinning her whole life on the issue of it. Under 
her guarded face and calm demeanour, the storm 
of divided and conflicting instincts and passions 
raged, and long solitary rambles became a neces- 
sary outlet for what she dared show to none. She 
shrank from seeing Medland, and yet longed to 
speak w T ith him ; she felt that to mention the topic 
to him was impossible, and yet, if they met, inevi- 
table ; that she would not have strength to face him, 
and yet could not let him go without clearing up 
the mystery. She told herself at one moment that 
she hardly knew r him, at the next that between 
them nothing could be too secret for utterance. 

What she hoped and feared befell her that 
morning. She went out for a walk in the Park, 
and before long she met the Premier, with his 
daughter and Norburn. The two last were laugh- 
ing and talking — their quarrel was quite forgotten 
now — and Medland himself, she thought, looked 
as though his load of care were a little less heavy. 
The two men explained that they were on their 
way — a roundabout way, they confessed — to the 
Council, and had seized the chance of some fresh 
air, while Daisy was full of stories about yester- 
180 


ALL THERE WAS TO TELL 


day’s triumph, that left room only for a passing 
reference to yesterday’s tragedy. 

“I didn’t like him at all,” she said; “but still 
it’s dreadful — a man one knew ever so slightly ! ” 

Alicia agreed, and the next instant she found 
herself practically alone with Medland; for Daisy 
ran off to pick a wild-flower that caught her eye 
in the wood, and Norburn followed her. Not 
knowing whether to be glad or sorry, she made no 
effort to escape, and was silent while Medland 
began to speak of his prospects in that evening’s 
division. 

Suddenly she paused in her walk and lifted her 
eyes to his. 

“You look happier,” she said. 

Medland’s conscience smote him: he was look- 
ing happier because the man was dead. 

“ It’s at the prospect of being a free man to- 
morrow,” he answered, with a smile. “ You know 
Cincinnatus was very happy. ” 

“ But you’re not like that.” 

“No, I suppose not. Say it’s •” 

“ Never mind.” 

After a pause she made another attempt. 

“Mr. Medland!” 

« Yes ? ” 

“You’ve been very good to me — yes, very 
good.” 

He turned to her with a gesture of disclaimer. 
She thought he was going to speak, but he did 
not. 

“ Whatever happens, I shall always remember 
that with — with deep gratitude.” 

“ What is going to happen? ” he asked, with an 
uneasy smile. 


181 


HALF A HERO 


“ Oh, how can I? ” she burst out. “ How can I 
say it ? How can I ask you ? ” 

As she spoke she stopped, and he followed her 
example. They stood facing one another now, as 
he replied gravely, 

“ Whatever you ask — let it be what it will — I 
will answer, truthfully.” A pause before the last 
word perhaps betrayed a momentary struggle. 

“ What right have I ? Why should you ? ” 

“ The right my — my desire to have your regard 
gives you. How can I ask for that, unless I am 
ready to tell you all you can wish to know ? ” 

“ I have heard,” she began falteringly, “ I have 
been told by — by people who, I suppose, were 
right to tell me ” 

In a moment he understood her. A slight 
twitch of his mouth betrayed his trouble, but he 
came to her rescue. 

“ I don’t know how it reached you,” he said. 
“ Perhaps I think you might have been — you need 
not have known it. But there is only one thing 
you can have heard, that it would distress you to 
speak of. ” 

She said nothing, but fixed her eyes on his. 

“ I am right ? ” he asked. “ It is about — my 
wife ? ” 

She bowed her head. He stood silent for a mo- 
ment, and she cried, 

“ It was only gossip — a woman’s gossip ; I did 
wrong to listen to it.” 

“ Gossip,” he said, “ is often true. This is true,” 
and he set his lips. 

The worst often finds or makes people calm. 
She had flushed at first, but the colour went again, 
and she said quietly, 


182 


ALL THERE WAS TO TELL 

“ If you have time and don’t mind, I should like 
to hear it all.” 

She had forgotten what this request must mean 
to him, or perhaps she thought the time for pre- 
tence had gone by. If so, he understood, for he 
answered, 

“ It’s your right.” 

Her eyes sank to the ground, but she did not 
quarrel with his words. She stood motionless 
while he told his story. He spoke with wilful 
brevity and dryness. 

“ I was a young man when I met her. She was 
married, and I went to the house. Her hus- 
band ” 

“ Did he ill-treat her ? ” 

“ No. In his way, I suppose he was fond of her. 
But — she didn’t like his way. She was very beau- 
tiful, and I fell in love with her, and she with me. 
And we ran away.” 

“ Is — is that all ? Is there no ? ” 

“No excuse? No, I suppose, none. And I 
lived with her till she died four years ago. And — 
Daisy is our daughter.” 

“ And he — the husband ? ” 

“ He did not divorce her. I don’t know why 
not, perhaps because she asked him to — anyhow 
he didn’t. And he outlived her : so she died — as 
she had lived.” 

“ And is he still alive ? ” 

“No; he is dead now.” He was about to go on, 
but checked himself. Why add that horror? How 
the man died was nothing between her and him. 

“ Have you no — nothing to say ? ” she burst out, 
almost angrily. “You just tell me that and stop I” 

“ What is there to say ? I have told you all 
183 


HALF A HERO 


there is to tell. I loved her very much. I did 
what I could to make her happy, and I try to 
make up for it to Daisy. But there is nothing 
more to say.” 

She was angry that he would not defend him- 
self. She was ready — ah, so ready ! — to listen to 
his pleading. But he would not say a word for 
himself. Instead, he went on, 

“ She didn’t want to come, but I made her. 
She repented, poor girl, all hdr life ; she was never 
quite happy. It was all my doing. Still, I think 
she was happier with me, in spite of it.” 

A movement of impatience escaped from Alicia. 
Seeing it he added, 

“ I beg your pardon. I didn’t want you to think 
hardly of her.” 

“ I don’t want to think of her at all. Was she — 
was she like Daisy ? ” 

“Yes; but prettier.” 

“ I don’t know what you expect me to say,” she 
exclaimed. “ I know — I suppose some men don’t 
think much of — of a thing like that. To me it 
is horrible. You simply followed your — Ah, I 
can’t speak of it ! ” and she seemed to put him 
from her with a gesture of disgust. 

He walked beside her in silence, his face set in 
the bitter smile it always wore when fate dealt 
hardly with him. 

“ I think I’ll go straight home,” she said, stop- 
ping suddenly. “You can join the others.” 

“Yes, that will be best. I’m not due at the 
Council just yet.” 

4 ‘ I suppose I ought to thank you for telling me 
the truth. I — ” Her false composure suddenly 
gave way. With a sob she stretched out her hands 
184 


ALL THERE WAS TO TELL 


toward him, crying, “ Why didn’t you tell me 
sooner ? ” and before he could answer her she 
turned and walked swiftly away, leaving him stand- 
ing still on the pathway. 

She was hardly inside the gates of Government 
House when she saw Eleanor Scaife, who hurried 
to meet her. 

“ Only think, Alicia ! ” she cried. “ Dick is on 
his way home, and with such good news. We’ve 
just had a cable from him.” 

“ Coming back ! ” 

“Yes. He’s engaged ! He met the Grangers 
on their tour round the world — you know them, 
the great cotton people ? — at Sydney, and he’s en- 
gaged to the youngest girl, Violet — you remember 
her ? It all happened in a fortnight. Mary and 
Lord Eynesford are delighted. It’s just perfect. 
She’s very pretty, and tremendously well off. I do 
declare, I never thought Dick would end so well ! 
What a happy thought it was sending him away ! 
Aren’t you delighted ? ” 

“ It sounds very nice, doesn’t it? I don’t think 
I knew her more than just to speak to.” 

“ Dick’ll be here in four days. I’ve been looking 
for you to tell you for the last hour. Where have 
you been ? ” 

“ In the Park.” 

“ Alone, as usual, you hermit ? ” 

“Well, I met the Medlands and Mr. Norburn, 
and talked to them for a little while.” 

“ Alicia! But it’s no use talking to you. Come 
and find Mary.” 

“No, Eleanor, I’m tired, and — and hot. I’ll go 
to my room.” 

“ Oh, you must come and see her first.” 

185 


HALF A HERO 


“I can’t.” 

“ She’ll be hurt, Alicia. She’ll think you don’t 
care. Come, dear.” 

“ Tell her — tell her I’m coming directly. Eleanor, 
you must let me go,” and breaking away she fled 
into the house. 

Eleanor went alone to seek Lady Eynesford. 
Somehow Alicia’s words had quenched her high 
spirits for the moment. 

“ Poor child ! I do hope she hasn’t been foolish,” 
she mused. “ Surely after what Mary told her — ! 
Oh dear, I’m afraid it isn’t all as happy as it is 
about Dick ! ” 

And then she indulged in some very cynical 
meditations on the advantages of being a person of 
shallow emotions and changeful fancies, until she 
was roused by the sight of Medland and Norburn 
walking up to the house, to attend the Executive 
Council. From the window she closely watched 
the Premier as he approached ; her mood wavered 
to and fro, but at last she summed up her impres- 
sions by remarking, 

“Well, I suppose one might.” 


186 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE STORY OF A PHOTOGRAPH 

Mr. Coxon may be forgiven for being, on this 
same important Monday, in a state of some ner- 
vous excitement. He had a severe attack of what 
are vulgarly called “ the fidgets,” and Sir John, who 
was spending the morning at the Club (for his 
court was not sitting), glanced at him over his eye- 
glasses with an irritated look. The ex- Attorney- 
General would not sit still, but flitted continually 
from window to table, and back from table to win- 
dow, taking up and putting down journal after 
journal. Much depended, in Mr. Coxon’s view, on 
the event of that day, for Sir John spoke openly of 
his approaching retirement, and an appointment 
sometimes thought worthy of a Premier’s accept- 
ance might be in Coxon’s grasp before many weeks 
were past, if only Medland and his noxious idea of 
getting a first-class man out from England could 
be swept together into limbo. 

“ What’s the betting about to-night ? ” asked the 
Chief Justice, as in one of his restless turns the 
brooding politician passed near. 

“We reckon to beat him by five,” answered 
Coxon. 

“ Unless any of your men turn tail, that is ? I 
hear Fenton’s very wobbly — says he daren’t show 
his face in the North-east Ward if he throws Med- 
land over.” 

“ Oh, he’s all right.” 

13 


187 


HALF A HERO 


" Been promised something ? ” 

44 You might allow some of us to have consciences, 
Chief Justice,” said Coxon, with an attempt at 
geniality. 

44 Oh, some of you, yes. But I’ll pick my men, 
please,” remarked Sir John, with a pleasant smile. 
“ Perry’s got a conscience, and Kilshaw — well, Kil- 
shaw’s got a gadfly that does instead, and of course, 
Coxon, I add you to the list.” 

44 Much obliged for your testimonial,” said Coxon 
sourly. 

4 4 1 add any man I’m talking to, to the list,” con- 
tinued the Chief Justice. 44 1 expect him to do the 
same by me. But, honestly, I add you even in 
your absence. You’re not a man who puts party 
ties above everything.” 

Mr. Coxon darted a suspicious glance at the 
head of his profession, but the Chief Justice’s air 
was blandly innocent. 

44 My party’s my party,” he remarked, 44 just so 
long as it carries out my principles. I don’t say 
either party does it perfectly.” 

44 1 dare say not ; but of course you’re right to 
act with the one that does most for you.” 

Again the Chief Justice had hit on a somewhat 
ambiguous expression. Coxon detected a grin on 
the face of Captain Heseltine, who was sitting 
near, but he could not hold Sir John’s grave face 
guilty of the Captain’s grin. 

44 1 see,” remarked the Captain, perhaps in order 
to cover the retreat of his grin, 44 that they’ve dis- 
charged the woman who was arrested last night for 
the murder.” 

44 Really no evidence against her,” said the Chief 
Justice. 44 But, Heseltine, wasn’t this man Benham 
188 


THE STORY OF A PHOTOGRAPH 


the fellow Medland had a sort of shindy with at 
that flower-show ? ” 

“Yes, he was. Kilshaw seemed to know all 
about him.” 

“ He was talking to Miss Medland.” 

“ And the Premier had her away from him in no 
time. Queer start, Sir John ? ” 

“ Oh, well, he seems to have been a loose fellow, 
and I suppose was murdered for the money he had 
on him. But I mustn’t talk about it. I may have 
to try it.” 

“ Gad ! you’ll be committing contempt of your- 
self,” suggested the Captain. 

“ Like that snake that swallows itself, eh ? ” 

“ What snake ? ” asked the Captain, with interest. 

“The snake in the story,” answered the Chief 
Justice ; and he added in an undertone — “ Why 
can’t that fellow sit still ? ” 

Mr. Coxon had wandered to the window again, 
and was thrumming on the panes. He turned on 
hearing some one enter. It was Sir Robert Perry. 

“Well,” he began, “I bring news of the event 
of the day.” 

“ About to-night ? ” asked Coxon eagerly. 

“To-night! That’s not the event of the day. 
Ministers are a deal commoner than murders. No, 
last night.” 

Coxon turned away disappointed. 

“ The murder ! ” exclaimed the Captain. 

“Don’t talk to me about it, Perry,” the Chief 
Justice requested, opening a paper in front of his 
face. He did not, however, withdraw out of ear- 
shot. 

“ They’ve got a sort of a clew. A wretched hob- 
bledehoy of a fellow, something in the book-seller’s 
189 


HALF A HERO 


shop at the corner of Kettle Street, has come with a 
rigmarole about a society that he and a few more 
belonged to, including this Francis Gaspard, who 
is missing. He protests that the thing was legal, 
and all that — only a Radical inner ring — but he 
says that at the last meeting this fellow was drop- 
ping hints about putting somebody out of the way. 
Dyer — that’s the lad’s name — swears the rest of 
them disowned him and said they’d have nothing 
to do with it, and hoped he’d given up the 
idea.” 

“I suppose he’s in a blue funk?” asked the 
Captain. 

“ He is no doubt alarmed,” said Sir Robert. “ He 
gave the police the names of the rest of their pre- 
cious society, and, oddly enough, Ned Evans of the 
House — you know him, Coxon ? — was one.” 

“ Heard such an awful lot of debates, poor chap,” 
observed Captain Heseltine. 

“Well, they went to Evans’s and collared him. 
For a time he stuck out that he knew nothing 
about it, but they threatened him with heaven 
knows what, and at last he confessed to having 
seen this Gaspard in company with the murdered 
man in Digby Square a little before twelve on the 
night.” 

“ By Jove ! That’s awkward ! ” said the Captain. 

Coxon showed more interest now, and remarked, 

“Why, Gaspard was one of Medland’s organ- 
isers. I saw him with both Medland and Nor burn 
on Saturday.” 

“ I don’t suppose they were planning to murder 
this Benham. Indeed, I don’t see that the thing 
can have been political at all. What did it matter 
whether Benham lived or died ? ” 

.190 


THE STORY OF A PHOTOGRAPH 


“ I don’t see that it did, except to Benham,’' 
assented the Captain. “ But what’s become of 
Gaspard ? ” 

“ Ah, that they don’t know. He’s supposed to 
have taken ship, and they’ve cabled to search all 
ships that left the port that morning.” 

“ He’ll find the man in blue — or the local equiv- 
alent — on the wharf,” said the Captain. “ Rather a 
jar that, Sir Robert, when you’re in from a voyage. 
What are they doing now ? ” 

“ Well, the Superintendent said they were going 
to have a thorough search through the dead man’s 
lodgings, to see if they could find out anything 
about him which would throw light on the motive. 
The police don’t think much of the political theory 
of the crime.” 

“Dashed nonsense, / should think,” said the 
Captain, and he sauntered off to play billiards. 

“ That young man,” said the Chief Justice, “ is 
really not a fool, though he does his best to look 
like one.” 

“ That queer conduct seems to me rather com- 
mon in young men at home. I noticed it when I 
was over.” 

“ Is it meant to imply independent means ? ” 

“ I dare say that idea may be dormant under it 
somewhere. My wife says the girls like it.” 

“ Then your wife, Perry, is a traitor to her sex 
to make such confessions. Besides, they didn’t in 
my time.” 

“ Come, you know, you’re a forlorn bachelor. 
What can you know about it ? ” 

“Bachelors, Perry, are the men who know. 
Which gathers most knowledge from a vivisection, 
the attentive student or the writhing frog ? ” 

191 


HALF A HERO 


“ The operator, most of all.” 

“ Doubtless.” 

“ And that’s the woman. Therefore, Oakapple, 
you're wrong and my wife’s right.” 

“ The deuce! ” said the Chief Justice. “ I won- 
der how I ever got any briefs.” 

In the afternoon, when these idlers had one and 
all set out for the Legislative Assembly, some to 
work, others still to idle, Mr. Kilshaw felt interest 
enough in the fate of his late henchman to drop in 
at the police office on his way to the same destina- 
tion. He was well known, and no one objected 
to his walking in and making for the door of the 
Superintendent’s room. An officer to whom he 
spoke told him that Ned Evans was in custody, 
and that it was rumoured that some startling dis- 
coveries had been made at Benham’s lodgings. 

“Indeed, sir,” said the man, “I believe the 
Superintendent wished to see you.” 

“ Ah, I dare say,” said Kilshaw. “ Tell him I’m 
here.” 

When he was ushered into the inner room, the 
Superintendent confirmed the officer’s surmise. 

“ I was going to send a message to ask you to 
step round, sir,” he remarked. 

“ Here I am, but don’t be long. I don’t want 
to miss the Premier’s speech.” 

“ Mr. Medland speaking to-day? ” 

4 ‘Of course. It’s a great day with us at the 
House.” 

“ I think it looks like being a great day all 
round. Well, Mr. Kilshaw, you told me you 
knew the deceased.” 

“Yes, I knew Benham.” 

“ Benyon,” corrected the Superintendent. 

192 


THE STORY OF A PHOTOGRAPH 


“Yes, that was his real name,” assented Kil- 
shaw. 

“At his lodgings there was found a packet. 
That’s the wrapper,” and he handed a piece of 
brown paper to Kilshaw. 

“ In case,” Kilshaw read, “ of my death or dis- 
appearance, please deliver this parcel to Mr. Kil- 
shaw, Legislative Assembly, Kirton.” 

“ I’m sorry to say, sir,” said the Superintendent, 
“ that the detective sergeant conducting the search 
took upon him to open this packet in the presence 
of one or two persons. It ought to have been 
opened by no one but ” 

“ Myself.” 

“ Pardon me, but myself,” said the Superintend- 
ent, with a slight smile. “ Owing to the inexcus- 
able blunder, I’m afraid something about what it 
contains may leak out prematurely. Those pests, 
the reporters, are everywhere ; you can’t keep ’em 
out.” 

“Well, what does it contain?” asked Kilshaw. 
He was annoyed at this unsought publicity, but 
he saw at once that he must show no sign of vexa- 
tion. 

“ That, for one thing,” and the Superintendent 
handed Kilshaw a photograph of two persons, a 
young woman and a young man. “ Look at the 
back,” he added. 

Kilshaw looked, and read — “ My wife and M.” 

“ That’s the deceased’s handwriting? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ And you know the persons? ” 

“ I’ve no doubt about them. It’s the Premier — 
and — and Mrs. Medland.” 

“Exactly. Now read this,” and he gave him 
193 


HALF A HERO 


the copy of a certificate of marriage between 
George Benyon and Margaret Aspland. 

“ Quite so,” nodded Kilshaw. 

“ And this.” 

Kilshaw took the slip of newspaper, old and 
yellow. It contained a few lines, briefly recording 
that Mrs. Benyon had left her home secretly by 
night, in her husband’s absence, and could not be 
found. 

Kilshaw nodded again. 

“ It doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “ I knew all 
this. I was in Mr. Benyon’s confidence.” 

“ Perhaps you can tell us how he lived ? ” haz- 
arded the Superintendent, with a shrewd look. 

Mr. Kilshaw looked doubtful. 

“ The inquest is fixed for to-morrow. The more 
we know now, the less it will be necessary to pro- 
tract it.” 

“I have been helping him lately,” admitted 
Kilshaw; and he added, “ Look here, Superintend- 
ent, I don’t want that more talked about than 
necessary.” 

“You needn’t say a word to me now unless you 
like, sir; but I only want to make things as com- 
fortable as I can. You see, the coroner is bound 
to look into it a bit. Had you given him money 
lately? ” 

“ Yes ” 

“ Much?” 

Kilshaw leant forward and answered, almost in a 
whisper, 

“ Five hundred on Friday night,” and in spite 
of himself he avoided the Superintendent’s shrewd 
eye. But that officer’s business was not to pass moral 
judgments. Law is one thing, morality another. 

194 


THE STORY OF A PHOTOGRAPH 


“ Then the thing’s as plain as a pikestaff. This 
Gaspard got to know about the money, and mur- 
dered him to get it. We needn’t look further for 
a motive.” 

“ I suppose all this will have to come out ? 1 

wonder if Gaspard knew who Benham was ? ” 

“ It’s not necessary to suppose that, unless we 
believe all Evans says. Certainly, if we trust 
Evans, Gaspard hinted designs on some one before 
he could have known Benyon had this money. 
Could he have known he was going to have it ? ” 

“ Benyon may have told him I had promised to 
help him.” 

“ Well, sir, we must see about that. We shall 
want you at the inquest, sir.” 

“ I suppose you will, confound you ! And I 
should think you’d want a greater man than I am, 
too.” 

The Superintendent looked grave. 

“ I am going up to try and see the Premier at 
the House to-day,” he said. “ I think we shall 
have to trouble him. You see, he knew Gaspard 
as well as the deceased.” 

“ I’ll give you a lift. You can keep out of the 
way till he’s at leisure.” 

At this moment one of the police entered, and 
handed the Superintendent a copy of the Evening 
Mail . 

“ It’s as you feared, sir,” he remarked as he went 
out. 

The Superintendent opened the paper, looked at 
it for an instant, and then indicated a passage with 
his forefinger. 

“ It is rumoured,” read Mr. Kilshaw, “ that cer- 
tain very startling facts have come to light regard- 
195 


HALF A HERO 


ing the identity of the deceased man Benham, and 
that the name of a very prominent politician, now 
holding an exalted office, is likely to be introduced 
into the case. As the matter will be public prop- 
erty to-morrow, we may be allowed to state that 
trustworthy reports point to the fact of the Premier 
being in a position to give some important informa- 
tion as to the past life of the deceased. It is said 
that a photograph of two persons, one of whom is 
Mr. Medland, has been discovered among the pa- 
pers at Mr. Benham’s (or we should say Benyon’s) 
lodgings. Further developments of this strange 
affair will be awaited with interest.” 

“ I wish,” commented the Superintendent grimly, 
“ that my men could keep a secret as well as their 
man can sniff one out.” 

But Mr. Kilshaw was too excited to listen. 

“By Jove,” he cried, “the news’ll be at the 
House by now ! Come along, man, come along ! ” 
And, as they went, they read the rest ; for the 
paper had it all — even a copy of that marriage cer- 
tificate. 


196 


CHAPTER XXIII 


AN ORATOR’S RIVAL 

The House was crowded, and every gallery full. 
Lady Eynesford and Eleanor Scaife, attended by 
Captain Heseltine, occupied their appointed seats ; 
the members of the Legislative Council overflowed 
from their proper pen and mingled with humbler 
folk in the public galleries ; reporters wrote furi- 
ously, and an endless line of boys bearing their slips 
came and went. The great hour had arrived : the 
battle-field was reached at last. Sir Robert Perry 
sat and smiled ; Puttock played with the hair chain 
that wandered across his broad waistcoat ; Coxon 
restlessly bit his nails ; Norburn’s face was pale 
with excitement, and he twisted his hands in his 
lap ; the determined partisans cheered or groaned ; 
the waverers looked important and felt unhappy ; 
all eyes were steadily fixed on the Premier, and all 
ears intent on his words. 

For the moment he had forgotten everything 
but the fight he was fighting. No thought of the 
wretched Benham, who lay dead, no thought of his 
daughter, who watched him as he spoke, no thought 
of Alicia Derosne, who stayed away that she might 
not see him, crossed his brain now, or turned his 
ideas from the task before him. It was no ordinary 
speech, and no ordinary occasion. He spoke only 
to five men out of all his audience — the rest were 
his, or were beyond the power of his charm ; on 
those five important-looking, unhappy-feeling men 
he bent every effort of his will, and played every 
197 


HALF A HERO 


device of his mind and his tongue. Now and then 
he distantly threatened them, oftener he made as 
though to convince their cool judgment ; again he 
would invoke the sentiment of old alliance in them, 
or stir their pity for the men whose cause he 
pleaded. Once he flashed out in bitter mockery at 
Coxon, then jested in mild irony at Puttock and 
his “rich man’s revolution.” Returning to his 
text, he minutely dissected his own measure, insist- 
ing on its promise, extenuating its fancied danger, 
claiming for it the merits of a courageous and well- 
conceived scheme. Through all the changes that 
he rang, he was heard with close attention, broken 
only by demonstrations of approval or of dissent. 
At last one of his periods extorted a cheer from a 
waverer. It acted on him as a spur to fresh exer- 
tions. He raised his voice till it filled the chamber, 
and began his last and most elaborate appeal. 

Suddenly a change came over his hearers. The 
breathless silence of engrossed attention gave place 
to a subdued stir; whispers were heard here and 
there. Men were handing a newspaper about, ac- 
companying its transfer with meaning looks. He 
was not surprised, for members made no scruple of 
reading their papers or writing their letters in the 
House, but he was vexed to see that he had not 
gripped them closer. He went on, but that ever- 
circulating paper had half his attention now. He 
noticed Kilshaw come in with it and press it on Sir 
Robert’s notice. Sir Robert at first refused, but 
when Kilshaw urged, he read and glanced up at 
him, so Medland thought, with a look of sadness. 
Coxon had got a paper now, and left biting his 
nails to pore over it ; he passed it to Puttock, and 
the fat man bulged his cheeks in seeming wonder. 

198 


AN ORATORS RIVAL 


Even his waverer, the one who had cheered, was 
deep in it. Only Norburn was unconscious of it. 
And, when they had read, they all looked at him 
again, not as they had looked before, but, it seemed 
to him, with a curious wonder, half mocking, half 
pitying, as one looks at a man who does not know 
the thing that touches him most nearly. He 
glanced up at the galleries : there too was the ubiq- 
uitous sheet ; the Chief Justice and the President 
of the Legislative Council were cheek by jowl over 
it, and it fell lightly from Lady Eynesford’s slim 
fingers, to be caught at eagerly by Eleanor Scaife. 

64 What is it? ” he whispered impatiently to Nor- 
burn; but his absorbed disciple only bewilderedly 
murmured 44 What? ” and the Premier could not 
pause to tell him. 

Now followed what Sir Robert maintained was 
the greatest feat of oratory he had ever witnessed. 
Gathering his wandering wits together, Medland 
plunged again whole-heartedly into his speech, and 
slowly, gradually, almost, it seemed, step by step 
and man by man, he won back the thoughts of his 
audience. He wrestled with that strange paper 
rival and overthrew it. Man after man dropped 
it ; its course was stayed ; it fell underfoot or flut- 
tered idly down the gangways. The nods ceased, 
the whispers were hushed, the stir fell and rose no 
more. Once again he had them, and, inspired by 
that knowledge, the surest spur of eloquence, there 
rang from his lips the last burning words, the pict- 
ure of the vision that ruled his life, the hope for the 
days that he might not see. 

“Believe!” he cried, in passionate entreaty, 
44 believe, and your sons shall surely see ! ” 

He sank in his seat, and the last echo of his reso- 
.199 


HALF A HERO 


nant voice died away. First came silence, and 
then a thunder of applause. Men stood up and 
waved what they had in their hands, hats or hand- 
kerchiefs or papers ; women sat with their eyes 
still on him, or, with a gasp, leant back and closed 
their lids. He sat with his head sunk on his 
breast, till the tumult died away. No one rose. 
The Speaker looked round once and again. Could 
it be that no one — ? Slowly he began to rise. 
The movement caught Sir Robert’s attention : he 
signed to Puttock, who sprang heavily to his feet. 
Puttock was no favourite as a speaker, and gener- 
ally his rising was a signal for the House to thin. 
He began his speech with his stolid deliberation. 
Not a man stirred. They waited for something still. 

“ And now,” whispered Medland to the Treas- 
urer, who sat by him, “ let’s see what it was in 
that infernal paper.” 

The Treasurer handed him what he asked. 

“ You ought to see it,” he whispered back. 

Mr. Puttock’s voice droned on, and his sheaf of 
notes rustled in his hand. No one looked at him 
or listened to him. Their eyes were still on Med- 
land. The Premier read — it seemed so slowly — put 
the paper down, and gazed first up at the ceiling ; 
then he glanced round, and found all the attentive 
eyes on him : he smiled — it was just a visible smile, 
no more — and his head fell again on his breast, 
while his hand idly twisted a button on his coat. 

The show was over, or had never come, and the 
deferred rush to the doors began. They almost 
tumbled over one another now in their haste to 
reach where their tongues could play freely. Kil- 
shaw and Perry, the Treasurer and the waverers, 
all slipped out, and Norburn, knowing nothing but 
200 


AN ORATORS RIVAL 


simply wearied of Puttock, followed them. Scarce 
twenty were left in the House, and the galleries 
had poured half their contents into the great room 
which served for a lobby outside. There the talk 
ran swift and eager. The very name of “ Benyon ” 
was enough for many, who remembered that it had 
always been said to be the maiden name of Med- 
land’s wife. Could any one doubt who the other 
person in that strangely revealed photograph was, 
or fail to guess the relation between the man they 
had been listening to and the man who was dead ? 
A few had known Benyon, more Gaspard, all Med- 
land — the three figures of this drama; many re- 
membered the fourth, the central character, who 
had not tarried for the end of it : the man was rare 
who did not spend a thought on the bright girl, 
whose face was so familiar in these walls, and who 
must be dragged into it. Where was she ? asked 
one. She was gone. Norburn, with rapid in- 
stinct, as soon as he had read, had run to her and 
forced her to go home. He was back from escort- 
ing her now, and walked up and down with hands 
behind him, speaking to no one among all the bus- 
ily babbling throng. 

The waverers stood in a little group by them- 
selves, talking earnestly in undertones, while men 
wondered whether the paper would undo what the 
speech had done, and whether the Premier’s words 
had won a victory, only for his deeds to leap to 
light and rob it from him again. 

Inside, the debate lagged on, surely the dullest, 
emptiest, most neglected debate that had ever 
decided the fate of a Government. The men who 
had been set down to speak came in and spoke and 
went out again ; a House was kept, but with little 
201 


HALF A HERO 


to spare. Sir Robert went in and took his place, 
opposite Medland, who never stirred through all 
the hours. Presently Sir Robert wrote a note, 
twisted it, and flung it to the Premier. “ A splen- 
did performance of yours, mes compliments ,” it said, 
and, when Medland looked across to acknowledge 
it, Sir Robert smiled kindly, and nodded his silver 
head, and the Premier answered him with a glad 
gleam in his deep-set eyes. These two men, who 
were always fighting, knew one another, and liked 
one another for what they knew. And this little 
episode done, Sir Robert rose and pricked and 
pinked the Premier’s points, making sharp fun of 
his heroics, and weightily criticising his proposals. 
Now the House did fill a little, for after all the 
debate was important, and the hour of the division 
drew near ; and when the question was put and the 
bell rang, nearly half the House trooped out with 
virtuous air to join the other half, persistently 
gossiping in the lobby, and, with them, decide the 
fateful question. 

One more strange thing was to happen at that 
sitting. 

It was not strange that the Government were 
beaten by three votes, that only one of those 
wavering men voted with his old party at last, but 
it was strange that when this result was announced, 
and Medland’s followers settled sturdily in their 
seats to endure the celebration of the triumph, the 
celebration did not come. There was hardly a 
cheer, and Medland himself, whom the result 
seemed hardly to have roused, woke with a start to 
the unwonted silence. It struck to his heart: it 
seemed like a tribute of respect to a dead enemy. 
But he rose and briefly said that on the next day 
202 


AN ORATOR’S RIVAL 


an announcement of the Government’s intentions 
would be made by himself— he paused here a mo- 
ment — or one of his colleagues. He sat down 
again. The sitting was at an end, and the House 
adjourned. Members began to go out, but, as the 
Premier rose, they drew back and left a path for 
him down the middle of the House. As he went, 
one or two thrust out their hands to him, and one 
honest fellow shouted in his rough voice — he was a 
labouring-man member — 44 You’re not done yet, 
Jimmy ! ” 

The shout touched him, he lifted his head, 
looked round with a smile, and, just raising again 
the hat he had put on as he neared the door, took 
Norburn’s arm and passed out of the House. 

When Sir Robert followed, he found the Chief 
Justice waiting for him, and they walked off to- 
gether. For a long while neither spoke, but at 
last Sir Robert said peevishly, 

44 1 wish this confounded thing hadn’t happened. 
It spoils our win.” 

The Chief Justice nodded, and whistled a bar or 
two of some sad ditty. 

44 I’m glad she’s dead, poor soul, Perry,” he said. 

44 There’s the girl,” said Sir Robert. 

44 Ay, there’s the girl.” 

They did not speak again till they were just part- 
ing, when the Chief Justice broke out, 

44 Why the deuce couldn’t the fellow take his 
beastly photograph with him ? ” 

44 It’s very absurd,” answered Sir Robert, “but I 
feel just the same about it.” 

44 I’m hanged if you’re not a gentleman, Perry,” 
said the Chief Justice, and he hastened away, 
blowing his nose. 

14 


203 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THREE AGAINST THE WORLD 

Though the House had risen early that evening, 
the Central Club sat very late 0 The smoking- 
room was crowded, and tongues wagged briskly. 
Every man had a hare to hunt; no one lacked 
irrefragable arguments to prove what must hap- 
pen ; no one knew exactly what was going to hap- 
pen. The elder men gathered round Puttock and 
Jewell, and listened to a demonstration that the 
Premier’s public life was at an end ; the younger 
rallied Coxon, whose premature stateliness some- 
times invited this treatment, dubbing him “ King- 
maker Coxon,” and hilariously repudiating the idea 
that he did not enjoy the title. Captain Heseltine 
dropped in about eleven; cross-questioning drew 
from him the news that communications had 
passed, informal communications, he insisted, from 
the Governor to Sir Robert, as well as to the 
Premier. 

“ In fact,” he said, “ poor old Flemyng’s cutting 
up and down all over the place. Glad it’s his 
night on duty.” 

Presently Mr. Flemyng himself appeared, clam- 
orous for cigars and drink, but mighty discreet and 
vexatiously reticent. Yes, he had taken a letter 
to Medland ; yes, and another to Perry ; no, he 
had no idea what the missives were about. He 
believed Medland was to see the Governor to- 
morrow, but it was beyond him to conjecture the 
precise object of the interview. Was it resigna- 
204 


THREE AGAINST THE WORLD 


tion or dissolution? Really, he knew no more 
than that waiter — and so forth; very likely his 
ignorance was real, but he diffused an atmosphere 
of suppressed knowledge which whetted the curios- 
ity of his audience to the sharpest edge. 

A messenger entered and delivered a note to 
Puttock and another to Coxon. The two com- 
pared their notes for a moment, and went out 
together. The arguments rose furiously again, 
some maintaining that Medland must disappear 
altogether, others vehemently denying it, a third 
party preferring to await the disclosures at the 
inquest before committing themselves to an 
opinion. An hour passed; the noise in the streets 
began to abate, and the clock of the Roman Catho- 
lic cathedral hard by struck twelve. Captain Hes- 
eltine yawned, stretched, and rose to his feet. 

“ Come along, Flemyng,” he said. “ The show’s 
over for to-night.” 

He seemed to express the general feeling, but 
men were reluctant to acknowledge so disappoint- 
ing a conclusion, and the preparations for depart- 
ure were slow and lingering. They had not fairly 
begun before Mr. Kilshaw’s entrance abruptly 
checked them. Instantly he became the centre of 
a crowd. 

“Now, Kilshaw,” they cried, “you know all 
about it. Oh, come now ! Of course you do ! 
Secret? Nonsense! Out with it!” and one or 
two of his intimates added imploringly, “ Don’t be 
an ass, Kilshaw.” 

Kilshaw flung himself into a chair. 

“ They resign,” he said. 

“ At once ? ” 

“Yes. Perry’s to be sent for. Medland, I’m 
205 


HALF A HERO 

told, insists on going. For my own part, I think 
he’s right.” 

“Of course,” said somebody sapiently, “he 
doesn’t want to dissolve with this affair hanging 
over him.” 

“ It comes to the same thing,” observed Kilshaw. 
“Ferry will dissolve; the Governor has promised 
to do it, if he likes.” 

“ Perry dissolve ! ” 

“Yes,” nodded Kilshaw. “You see — ” He 
paused and added, “Our present position isn’t 
very independent.” 

Everybody understood what he hinted. Sir 
Robert did not care to depend on the will of 
Coxon and his seceders. 

“ And what about Coxon and Puttock? ” was 
the next question. 

“ Haven’t I been indiscreet enough ? ” 

“ Well, what are you going to do yourself? ” 

“ My duty,” answered Mr. Kilshaw, with a smile, 
and the throng, failing to extract any more from 
him, did at last set about the task of getting home 
to bed in good earnest. 

They could rest sooner than the man who 
occupied so much of their interest. It had been a 
busy evening for the defeated Minister ; he had 
colleagues to see, letters to write, messages to send, 
conferences to hold. No doubt there was much to 
do, and yet Norburn, who watched him closely, 
doubted whether he did not make work for him- 
self, perhaps as a means of distraction, perhaps as a 
device for postponing an interview with his daugh- 
ter. He had seen her for a minute when he came 
in, and told her he would tell her all there was to 
tell some time that night ; but the moment for it 
206 


THREE AGAINST THE WORLD 


was slow in coming. Norburn had been struck 
with Daisy’s composure. She had seen the Even- 
ing Mail , and, without attempting to discuss the 
matter with him, she expressed her conviction that 
there could be nothing distressing behind the mys- 
terious paragraph. Norburn did not know what 
to say to her. He felt that in a case of this sort a 
girl’s mind was a closed book to him. He had 
himself, on the way back from the House, heard 
a brief account of the whole matter from the 
Premier’s lips ; it seemed to him, in the light of 
his ideas and theories, a matter of very little 
moment. He was of course aware how widely 
the judgment of many would differ from his, and 
when his mind was directed to the political aspect 
of the situation, he acknowledged the gravity of 
the disclosure. But honestly he could not pretend 
to think it a thing which should alter or lessen the 
esteem or love in which Medland’s friends held 
him. And even if the original act were seriously 
worthy of blame, the lapse of years made present 
severity as unreasonable as it would be unkind. 
In vain Medland reminded him that, let the act be 
as old and long past as it would, the consequences 
remained. 

“ What! ” Norburn cried, “would any one think 
the worse of Daisy ? The more fools they ! ” and 
he laughed cheerfully, adding, “ I only wish she’d 
let me show her I think none the worse of her. 
Why, it’s preposterous, sir ! ” 

“ Preposterous or not,” answered Medland, “ half 
the people in the place will let her know the dif- 
ference. I may agree with you — God knows how 
I should like to be able to ! — but there’s no blink- 
ing the fact. Well, I must tell her.” 

207 


HALF A HERO 


He recollected telling the same story to the other 
woman he loved, and he shrank in sudden dread, 
lest his daughter should say what Alicia had said, 
“To me it is — horrible!” The words echoed in 
his brain. “ Ah, I can’t speak of it,” she had cried, 
and the gesture of her hand as she repelled him 
lived before his eyes again. Surely Daisy would 
not do that to him ! 

“ I should be like Lear — without a grievance,” 
he said to himself, with a wry smile. “ The very 
height of tragedy ! ” 

It was near midnight before he put away his 
work. Norburn had left him alone two hours be- 
fore, and he rose now, laid down his pipe, and went 
to look for his daughter in her little sitting-room. 
His heart was very heavy; he must make her un- 
derstand now why a man who made love to her 
should be hastily sent away by his friends, what 
her father had condemned her to, what manner of 
man he was; he must seem to destroy or impair 
the perfect sweetness of memory wherein she held 
her mother. 

He opened the door softly. She was sitting in 
a large armchair, over a little bit of bright fire ; save 
for gleams suddenly coming and going, as a coal 
blazed and died down again, the room was in dark- 
ness. He walked up to her and knelt by the chair, 
his head almost on a level with hers. 

“ Well, Daisy, what are you doing ? ” 

She put out a hand and laid it on his with a 
gentle pressure. 

“ I’m thinking,” she said. “ Do you want a 
light ? ” 

“ No, I like it dark best — best for what I have to 


208 


THREE AGAINST THE WORLD 


Suddenly she threw her arms round his neck, 
drawing him to her and kissing his face. 

“ I’d do the same if you’d killed him yourself,” 
she whispered in the extravagance of her love, and 
kissed him again. 

“ But, Daisy, you don’t know.” 

“ Yes, I do. He told me. He’s been here.” 

“ Who ? ” 

“ Jack Norburn. He said you would hate tell- 
ing me, so he did. You mustn’t mind, dear, you 
mustn’t mind. Oh, you didn’t think it would make 
any difference to me, dear, did you ? What do I 
care ? Mrs. Puttock may care, and Lady Eynes 
ford, and all the rest, but what do I care if I have 
you and him ? ” 

“ Me and him, Daisy ? ” 

“Yes,” she answered, smiling boldly. “He’s 
asked me to marry him — just to show he didn’t 
mind — and I think I will, father. W e three against 
the world! What need we care? Father, we’ll 
beat Sir Robert ! ” and she seized his two hands and 
laughed. 

In vain Medland tried to tell her what he had 
come to say. Mighty as his relief and joy were, 
he still felt a burden lay on him. She would not 
hear. 

“ Don’t you see I’m happy ? ” she cried. “ It 
can’t be your duty to make me unhappy. Jack 
doesn’t mind, I don’t mind ! ” Her voice sank a 
little and she added, “ It can’t hurt mother now. 
Oh, don’t be unhappy about it, dear — don’t, don’t ! ” 

They were standing now, and his arm was about 
her. Looking up at him, she went on, 

“ They shan’t beat us ! They shan’t say they 
beat us. W e three, father ! ” 

209 


HALF A HERO 


He stooped and kissed her. There is love that 
lies beyond the realm of giving or taking, of harm 
or good, of wrong, or even of forgiveness. With 
all his faults, this love he had won from his daugh- 
ter, and it stood him in stead that night. He 
drew himself up to his height, and the air of de- 
spondency fell from him. The girl’s brave love 
braced him to meet the world again. 

“ No, by Jove, were not beat yet, Daisy ! ” he 
said, and she kissed him again and laughed softly 
as she made him sit, and herself sat upon his knee. 


210 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE TRUTH TOO LATE 

By four o’clock the next afternoon the Club had 
gathered ample materials for fresh gossip. The 
formalities attendant on the change of govern- 
ment, the composition of the new Cabinet, the 
prospects of the election — these alone would have 
supplied many hours, and besides them, indeed 
supplanting them temporarily by virtue of an 
intenser interest, there was the account of the in- 
quest on Benyon’s body. Medland had gone to it, 
almost direct from his final interview with the Gov- 
ernor, and Kilshaw had been there, fresh from a 
conference with Perry. The inquiry had ended, as 
was foreseen directly Ned Evans’s evidence was 
forthcoming, in a verdict of murder against Gas- 
pard ; but the interest lay in the course of the in- 
vestigation, not in its issue. Mr. Duncombe, a 
famous comedian, who was then on tour in New 
Lindsey and had been made an honorary member 
of the Club, smacked his lips over the dramatic 
moment when the ex-Premier, calmly and in a 
clear voice, had identified the person in the photo- 
graph, declared the deceased man to have been 
Benyon, and very briefly stated how he had been 
connected with him in old days. 

“ The lady,” he said, “ is Mrs. Benyon. The 
other figure is that of myself. I had not seen the 
deceased for many years.” 

46 You were not on terms with him? ” asked the 
211 


HALF A HERO 


coroner, who, in common with half the listeners, 
had known the lady as Mrs. Medland. 

“No,” said Mr. Medland; “I lost sight of 
him.” 

“You did not hear from — from any one about 
him ? ” 

“ No.” 

He gave the dates when he had last seen Benyon 
in old days. Asked whether he had communi- 
cated with him between that date and the dead 
man’s reappearance, he answered, 

“ Once, about four years ago. I wrote to tell 
him of that lady’s death,” and he pointed again to 
the picture, and went on to tell the details of Ben- 
yon’s subsequent application to him for a post 
under Government. 

“ You refused it ? ” he was asked. 

“ Yes, I refused it. I spoke to him once again, 
when we met on a social occasion. We had a 
sort of dispute then. I never saw him again to 
speak to.” 

“ It was all done,” said Mr. Duncombe, describ- 
ing the scene, “ in a repressed way that was very 
effective — to a house that knew the circumstances 
most effective. And the other fellow — Kilshaw — 
he gave some sport too. The coroner (they told 
me he was one of Medland’s men, and I noticed he 
spared Medland all he could) was inclined to be 
a bit down on Kilshaw. Kilshaw was cool and 
handy in his answers, but, Lord love you ! his 
game came out pretty plain. A monkey! You 
don’t give a man a monkey unless there’s value re- 
ceived! So people saw, and Mr. Kilshaw looked a 
bit uncomfortable when he caught Medland’s eye. 
He looked at him like that,” and Mr. Duncombe 
212 


THE TRUTH TOO LATE 


assumed the finest wronged-hero glance in his 
repertory. 

“ Oh, come, old chap, I bet he didn’t,” observed 
Captain Heseltine. “We’ve seen him, you know.” 

Duncombe laughed good-humouredly. 

“At any rate he made Kilshaw look a little 
green, and some of the people behind called out 
8 Shame ! ’ and got themselves sat upon. Then 
they had Medland up again and twisted him a bit 
about his acquaintance with Gaspard; but the 
coroner didn’t seem to think there was anything 
in it, and they found murder against Gaspard, and 
rang down the curtain. And when we got outside 
there was a bit of a rumpus. They hooted Kil- 
shaw and cheered Medland, and yelled like mad 
when a dashed pretty girl drove up in a pony- 
cart and carried him off. Altogether it wasn’t 
half bad.” 

“ Glad you enjoyed yourself,” observed Captain 
Heseltine. “If it amuses strangers to see our 
leading celebrities mixed up in a murder and other 
distressing affairs, it’s the least we can do to see 
that they get it.” 

The Captain’s facetiousness fell on unapprecia- 
tive ears. Most of Mr. Duncombe’s audience were 
too alive to the serious side of the matter to enjoy 
it. To them it was another and a very striking 
scene in the fight which had long gone on between 
Medland and Kilshaw, and had taken a fresh and 
fiercer impetus from the well - remembered day 
when Medland had spoken his words about Kil- 
shaw and his race-horses. Nobody doubted that 
Kilshaw had kept this man Benyon, or Benham, as 
a secret weapon, and that the murder had only 
made the disclosure come earlier. Kilshaw’s repu- 
213 


HALF A HERO 


tation suffered somewhat in the minds of the scru- 
pulous, but his partisans would hear of no con- 
demnation. They said, as he had said, that in 
dealing with a man like Medland it would have 
been folly not to use the weapons fate, or the foe 
himself by his own misdeeds, offered. As for the 
disapprobation of the Kirton mob, they held that 
in high scorn. 

44 They’d cheer burglary, if Medland did it,” said 
one. 

44 Well, he wants to, pretty nearly,” added a 
capitalist. 

44 But the country will take a very different view. 
Puttock’ll rub it into all his people : theyll not 
vote for him. What do you say, Coxon ? ” 

44 I think we shall beat him badly,” said that 
gentleman, as he rose and went out. 

Captain Heseltine soon followed, and was sur- 
prised to see Coxon’s figure just ahead of him as 
he entered the gates of Government House. 

44 Hang the fellow! What does he want here ? ” 
asked the Captain. 

Mr. Coxon asked for Lady Eynesford. When 
he entered, she rose with a newspaper in her hand. 

“ What a shocking, shameful thing this is ! ” she 
said. 44 What a blessing it is that the Government 
w r as beaten ! ” 

Coxon acquiesced in both these opinions. 

44 1 never thought w r ell of him,” continued the 
lady. 44 Now everybody sees him in his true 
colours. And it’s you we have chiefly to thank 
for our deliverance.” 

Coxon murmured a modest depreciation of his 
services, and said, 

44 1 hope Miss Derosne is well ? ” 

214 


THE TRUTH TOO LATE 


Something in his tones brought to his hostess 
one of those swift fits of repentance that were apt 
to wait for her whenever she allowed herself to 
treat this visitor with friendliness. He was so very 
prompt in responding ! 

“ She is not very well,” she answered, rather 
coldly. 

“ I — I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing 

Mr. Coxon’s wishes were fulfilled to the mo- 
ment. The door opened and Alicia came in. On 
seeing him she stopped. 

44 Come in, Alicia,” said Lady Eynesford. 
44 Here’s Mr. Coxon come to be congratulated.” 

Coxon stood up with a propitiatory smile. 

44 How do you do, Mr. Coxon ? ” said Alicia, 
giving him a limp hand. 44 Shall I ring for tea, 
Mary? ” 

44 They’ll bring it. You haven’t wished him 

joy.” 

44 Oh, are you in the new Ministry ? ” 

44 1 have that honour, Miss Derosne. I hope you 
are on our side ? ” 

44 1 don’t quite know which side you are on — 
now,” observed Alicia, in slow but distinct tones. 

Coxon grew red. 

44 1 — I have joined Sir Robert Perry’s ministry,” 
he answered. 

44 Of course he has, Alicia,” interposed Lady 
Eynesford hastily. 

Alicia seated herself on the sofa, remarking as 
she did so, 

44 W ell, you do change a good deal, don’t you ? ” 

“Really, Miss Derosne,” he stammered, “I 
don’t understand you.” 


215 


HALF A HERO 


Oh, I only mean that you were first with Sir 
Robert, then with Mr. Medland, and now with Sir 
Robert again ! And presently with Mr. Medland 
again, I suppose ? 99 

“ She doesn’t appreciate the political reasons,” 
began Lady Eynesford, with troubled brow and 
smiling lips ; but Coxon, frowning angrily, broke 

in, 

“ Not the last, I promise you, anyhow, Miss 
Derosne.” 

“ What, you think he’s finally beaten then ? ” 

“ That’s not the question. Beaten or not, he is 
discredited, and no respectable man would act with 
him.” 

“We needn’t discuss — ” began Lady Eynesford 
again, but this time Alicia was the interrupter. 
She spoke in a cold, hard way, very unlike her 
own. 

“ If he won, you would all be at his feet.” 

Coxon was justified in being angry at her almost 
savage scorn of him ; regardless of anything except 
his wrong, he struck back the sharpest blow he 
could. 

“ I know some people are very ready to be at 
his feet,” he said, with a sneering smile. 

His shaft hit the mark. Alicia flushed and sat 
speechless. A glance at Lady Eynesford’s face 
told him the scene had lasted too long : he rose 
and took his leave, paying Alicia the homage of a 
bow, but not seeking her hand. She took no notice 
of his salute, and Lady Eynesford only gasped 
“ Good-bye.” 

The two sat silent for some moments after he 
had gone; then Lady Eynesford remarked, 

“Were you mad, Alicia? See what you laid 
216 


THE TRUTH TOO LATE 


yourself open to ! Oh, of course a gentleman 
wouldn’t have said it, but you yourself didn’t treat 
him as if he was a gentleman. Really, I can make 
a great deal of allowance for him. Your manner 
was inexcusable.” 

Alicia did not attempt to defend herself. 

“ You are out of temper,” continued her sister- 
in-law, “ and you choose to hit the first person 
within reach ; if you can do that you care nothing 
for my dignity or your own self-respect. You 
parade your — your interest in this man ” 

“ I shall never speak to him again.” 

“ I’m glad to hear it, and, if you come into my 
drawing-room, I will thank you to behave your- 
self properly and be civil to my guests,” and Lady 
Eynesford walked out of the room. 

Alicia huddled herself in a heap on the sofa, turn- 
ing her face to the wall. She felt Lady Eynes- 
ford’s scornful rebuke like the stroke of a whip. 
She had descended to a vulgar wrangle, and had 
been worsted in it : the one thing of all which it 
concerned her to hide had by her own act been 
opened to the jeer of a stranger ; she had violated 
every rule of good breeding and self-respect. No 
words — not even Lady Eynesford’s — were too 
strong to describe what she had done. Yet she could 
not help it ; she could not hear a creature like that 
abuse or condemn a man like Medland — though all 
that he had said she had said, and more, to Med- 
land himself. She was too miserable to think ; she 
lay with closed eyes and parted lips, breathing 
quickly, and restlessly moving her limbs in that 
strange physical discomfort which great unhappi- 
ness brings with it. 

A footstep roused her ; she sat up, hurriedly 
217 


HALF A HERO 


smoothing her hair and clutching at a book that 
lay on the table by her. The intruder was her 
brother, and fortunately he was too intent on the 
tidings he brought to notice her confusion. 

“ Great news, A1 ! ” he cried. “ They’ve offered 
me Ireland. We shall start home in a month.” 

“ Home in a month ? ” she echoed. 

“ Yes. Splendid, isn’t it ? ” 

“ You’re pleased, Willie? ” 

The Governor was very pleased. He liked the 
promotion, he liked going home ; and finally, pleas- 
ant as his stay in New Lindsey had been on the 
whole, there were features in the present position 
which made him not sorry to depart. 

“ I shall just see the elections through, and Perry 
well started — at least, I suppose it’ll be Perry — and 
then we’ll be off. Shan’t you be glad to see the 
old home again, A1 ? ” 

“ It’s so sudden,” she said. “ I shall be sorry to 
leave here.” 

“ Oh, so shall I — very sorry to leave some of the 
people too. Still, it’s a good thing. Where’s 
Eleanor ? I must tell her. I say, Dick gets here 
to-morrow.” 

<fi Oh, I’m so glad.” 

The Governor hurried out again, and Alicia re- 
turned to the sofa. The knot of her troubles had 
been rudely cut. Perhaps this summary ending 
was best. She herself would not, she knew, have 
had the strength to tear herself away from that 
place, but if fate tore her — perhaps well and good. 
Nothing but unhappiness waited there for her ; it 
seemed to her that nothing but unhappiness waited 
anywhere now; but at least, over at home, she 
would not have to fear the discovery of her secret, 
218 


THE TRUTH TOO LATE 


the secret she herself kept so badly, nor to endure 
the torture of gossip, hints, and clumsy pity. No 
one, over at home, would think of Medland ; they 
might just know his name, might perhaps have 
heard him rumoured for a dangerous man and a 
vexatious opponent of good Sir Robert. Certainly 
they would never think of him as the cause of 
bruising of heart to a young lady in fashionable 
society. So he would pass out of her life; she 
would leave him to his busy, strenuous, happy- 
unhappy life, so full of triumphs and defeats, of 
ups and downs, of the love of many and the hate 
of many. Perhaps she, like the rest, would read 
his name in the Times now and then, unless indeed 
he were utterly vanquished. No, he was not finally 
beaten. Of that she was sure. His name would 
be read often in cold print, but the glow of the life 
he lived would be henceforth unknown to her. 
She would go back to the old world and the old 
circle of it. What would happen after that she 
was too listless to think. It was summed up in ne- 
gations ; and these again melted into one great 
want, the absence of the man to whom her imag- 
ination and her heart blindly and obstinately clung. 

Lady Eynesford had left her newspaper, and 
Alicia found her hand upon it. Taking it up, she 
read Medland’s evidence at the inquest. A sudden 
revulsion of feeling seized her. Was this the man 
she was dreaming about, a man who calmly, coolly 
as though caring nothing, told that story in the 
face of all the world ? Was she never to get rid 
of the spell he had cast on her before she knew 
what he really was ? For a man like this she had 
sacrificed her self-respect, bandied insults with a 
vulgar upstart, and brought on her head a reproach 
15 219 


HALF A HERO 


more fitting for an ill-mannered child. She threw 
the paper from her and rose to her feet. She would 
think no more of him ; he might be what he would ; 
he was no fit subject for her thoughts, and he and 
the place where he lived and all this wretched 
country deserved nothing better than to be forgot- 
ten, resolutely, utterly, soon. 

“ I am very sorry, Mary,” she was saying, ten 
minutes later ; 46 1 deserved all you said. I don’t 
know what foolishness possessed me. See, I have 
written and apologised to Mr. Coxon.” 

And Lady Eynesford kissed her and thanked 
heaven that they would soon have done with Mr. 
Coxon and — all the rest. 


220 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE UNCLEAN THING 

A few days later, Mr. Dick Derosne was walking in 
the Park at noon. He had been down to the Club 
and found no one there. Everybody except himself 
was at work : the politicians were scattered all over 
the colony, conducting their election campaign. 
Medland himself had gone to his constituency : his 
seat was very unsafe there, and he was determined 
to keep it if he could, although, as a precaution, he 
was also a candidate for the North-east ward of 
Kirton, where his success was beyond doubt. His 
friends and his foes had followed him out of town, 
and the few who were left were busy in the capital 
itself. Such men as these when at the Club would 
talk of nothing but the crisis, and, after he had heard 
all there was to hear about the Benyon affair, the 
crisis began to bore Dick. After all, it mattered 
very little to him; he would be out of it all in a 
month, and the Medlands were not, when he came 
to think of it, people of great importance. Why, 
the Grangers had never heard of them ! Decidedly, 
he had had enough and to spare of the Medlands. 

Nevertheless, he was to have a little more of 
them, for at this instant he saw Daisy Medland 
approaching him. Escape was impossible, and 
Dick had the grace to shrink from appearing to 
avoid her. 

“ The deuce ! ” he thought, “ this is awkward. I 
hope she won’t — ” He raised his hat with elaborate 
politeness. 


221 


HALF A HERO 


Daisy stopped and greeted him with much 
effusion and without any embarrassment. Dick 
thought that odd. 

“ I was afraid,” she said, “ we were not going to 
see you again before you disappeared finally with 
the Governor.” 

“ Oh, I came back just to settle things up. I 
hope you are all right, Miss Medland ? ” 

“ Y es, thank you. Did you have a pleasant trip ? ” 

“ Yes, very,” he answered, wondering if she knew 
of his engagement. 

“We missed you very much,” she went on. 

“ Awfully kind of you to say so.” 

“ You started so suddenly.” 

“ Oh, well — yes, I suppose I did. It just struck 
me I ought to see Australia.” 

“ How funny ! ” she exclaimed, with a little 
laugh. 

“ Why funny ?” asked Dick, rather stiffly. 

“ I mean that it should strike you just like that. 
However, it was very lucky, wasn’t it ?” 

“You mean I ” 

“ Yes, I mean you — ” said Daisy, who had no in- 
tention of saving Dick from any floundering that 
might befall him. Mercy is all very well, but give 
us justice sometimes. 

“You heard of my — my engagement?” 

“ I saw it in the papers. A Miss Granger, isn’t 
it?” 

“ A Miss Granger ! ” thought Dick. Everybody 
knew the Grangers. 

“ I’m sure I congratulate you. You lost no time, 
Mr. Derosne.” 

Dick stammered that it was an old acquaintance 
renewed. 


222 


THE UNCLEAN THING 


“ Oh, then you’ve been in love with her a long 
while ? ” asked Daisy, with a curiosity apparently 
very innocent. 

44 Not exactly that.” 

44 Then you did fall in love very quickly? ” 

44 Well, I suppose I did,” admitted Dick, as if he 
were rather ashamed of himself. 

44 Oh, I mustn’t blame you,” said Daisy, with a 
pensive sigh. 

Dick, on the look-out for a hint of suppressed 
suffering, saw what he looked for. She was taking 
it very well, and it was his duty to say something 
nice. Moreover, Daisy Medland was looking ex- 
tremely pretty, and that fact alone, in Dick’s view, 
justified and indeed necessitated the saying of 
something nice. Violet Granger was leagues away, 
and a touch of romance could not disquiet or hurt 
her. 

44 Indeed I am anxious to hear that you don’t,” 
he said, accompanying his remark with a glance of 
pathetic anxiety. 

44 Why should I ? ” she asked. 

This simple question placed Dick in a difficulty, 
and he was glad when she went on without wait- 
ing for an answer. 

44 Indeed I should have no right to. Love is 
sudden and — and beyond our control, isn’t it ? ” 

44 And yet,” said Dick, 44 a man is bound to con- 
sider so many things.” 

44 1 was thinking of a girl’s love. She just gives 
it and thinks of nothing. Doesn’t she ? ” and she 
looked at him with an appeal to his experience in 
her eyes. 

44 Does she ? ” said Dick, who began to feel un- 
comfortable. 


223 


HALF A HERO 


“ And when she has once given it, she never 
changes.” 

If this last remark were a generalisation, it was 
certainly an audacious one, but Dick was thinking 
only of a personal application. Daisy’s words, as 
he understood their meaning, were working on the 
better nature which lay below his frivolity. He 
began to suffer genuine shame and remorse at the 
idea that he had caused suffering — lasting pain — 
to this poor unsophisticated child who had loved 
him so readily. Moved by this honourable, if 
tardy, compunction, he ejaculated, 

44 Oh, don’t say that, Miss Medland. I never 
thought — I — I mean, surely you don’t mean — ?” 
And then he came to a dead stop for a moment ; 
only to start abruptly again the next, with — 46 It 
would spoil my happiness, if I thought — you don’t 
really mean it, do you ? I don’t know how I should 
ask you to forgive me, if you do.” 

Daisy’s plot (which it is not sought to justify) 
had been crowned with success. A mischievous 
smile replaced her innocent expression. 

44 What do you mean, Mr. Derosne ? Forgive 
you ? I was speaking of my own feelings.” 

46 Yes, so — so I understood, and I wanted to say 
that I hoped you wouldn’t think I had been incon- 
sid ” 

44 What does it matter to me, how long or how 
short your wooing is ? They say lovers are self- 
centred, but really I think you’re the worst I ever 
met. I must confess I wasn’t thinking of you, 
Mr. Derosne.” 

44 What? ” exclaimed Dick. 

44 Is it possible you haven’t heard of my engage- 
ment ? ” she asked in the sweetest tone. 

224 


THE UNCLEAN THING 


“Your ” 

“ Yes — to Mr. Norburn,” and she watched the 
effect with obvious pleasure. 

Dick pulled himself together. She had made a 
fool of him ; that was pretty clear now it was too 
late to help it. 

“ I hadn’t heard. I congratulate you,” he said, 
stiffly and awkwardly. 

“ Thanks. Of course that was what I meant 
when I said my feelings could never change. How 
odd you must have thought it of me, if you didn’t 
know ! ” 

“ W ell, I — I didn’t quite understand.” 

“You seemed puzzled and I couldn’t understand 
why. We were both thinking of ourselves too 
much, I suppose ! ” 

“ May I ask if you have been engaged long ? ” 

“Oh, not actually engaged very long, but, like 
yours, it’s been an old acquaintance, and — if you 
won’t betray me — perhaps a little more for ever so 
long.” 

Dick was not quite sure whether he believed the 
lady or not. He ought to have wished to believe 
her; as a fact, he was extremely reluctant to do 
so, but Daisy’s look was so candid and at the same 
time so naturally shy, in making her little avowal, 
that he was almost convinced that the semi-tragedy 
of their parting scene a few weeks before had been 
all acting on her side. Alicia could have unde- 
ceived him, but, for reasons tolerably obvious, Dick 
did not rehearse this interview to Alicia or to any 
one else. 

“ Ah ! here comes Mr. Norburn ! ” cried Daisy, 
rosy with delight. “ You must congratulate one 
another.” 


225 


HALF A HERO 


This very hollow ceremony was duly performed, 
and Dick left the lovers together. In fact he may 
be said to have made his exit in a somewhat shame- 
faced manner. Fortune put him at a disadvantage 
in that his partner was far away, while Daisy stood 
triumphant by the side of hers and watched him. 

“Upon my honour,” he exclaimed, hitting vi- 
ciously at a flower, “ I believe she was humbugging 
me all the time ! ” And from that day to this he 
thinks Miss Medland a flirt, and is very glad, for 
that among other weighty reasons, that he had 
nothing more to do with her. 

Her behaviour toward Dick Derosne was fairly 
typical of Daisy Medland’s attitude toward the 
world at large at this time. She made the mis- 
take, natural enough, of being defiant, of empha- 
sising outwardly an indifference that she did not 
feel, of anticipating slights and being ready to re- 
sent slurs which were never intended or inflicted. 
There are so many people in the world who want 
only an excuse for being kind, but yet do want 
that, and who are ready to give much, but must be 
asked. There were many among the upper circles 
of Kirton society who would have been ready 
enough to act a friendly part, to overlook much, to 
play protector to the girl, and do a favour to a 
man who had been and might again be powerful ; 
but they too needed to be asked — not of course in 
words, but by a hint of gratitude waiting for them, 
a touch of deference, some kind of appeal from 
the loneliness and desolation of a doubtful position 
to the comfortable regions of unaspersed respect- 
ability. They could not help feeling that Daisy, 
though by no fault of hers, was yet one who should 
ask and accept as favours what among equals are 
226 


THE UNCLEAN THING 


no more than courtesies. The knowledge of this 
point of view drove Daisy into strong revolt against 
it : she was more, not less, offhand than of yore ; 
more, not less, ready to ignore people with whom 
she was not in sympathy; more, not less, unscru- 
pulous in outraging the small conventions of so- 
ciety. And, unfortunately, Norburn was a man 
to encourage instead of discourage her in this 
course, for conventions and respectability had al- 
ways been a red rag to him. In the result the iso- 
lation of the Medland household from most of the 
families of their own level in the town, and from 
all of a higher, if there were any such, grew from 
day to day, until it seemed that Daisy’s “ We three 
against the world ! ” was to come true so far as the 
world meant the social circle of their neighbours. 
Medland himself was too engrossed with larger 
matters to note the progress of this outlawry : 
when he did for a moment turn his thoughts from 
the campaign he was engrossed with, there was 
only one face in Kirton society whose countenance 
or aversion troubled him : and that one was sternly 
and irrevocably turned away. 

Thus Daisy, though she might be cheered in the 
streets, and though she bore herself with exuberant 
gaiety out of doors, passed lonely evenings, espe- 
cially when Norburn left her to help in the country 
elections. The Chief Justice had been to see her 
once, and Lady Perry had left a card, but she was 
almost always alone, and then the exuberant gaiety 
would evaporate. One evening about half-past 
nine, she was sitting alone, wishing her father or 
her lover would come back to her, when there was 
a knock at the door. Alicia Derosne came in, 
with a hasty, almost furtive, step. 

227 


HALF A HERO 


“ You are alone, aren’t you? I saw Mr. Medland 
was away.” 

“ Yes, I am alone,” said Daisy, doubtful whether 
to put on her armour or not. 

“ Oh, Daisy, I’ve never been able to come and 
wish you joy yet. I wouldn’t do it by letter. I’m 
so glad. You are happy, aren’t you? ” and she 
took Daisy’s two hands and kissed her. 

“ Yes, I am very happy. It’s sweet of you to 
come. How did you manage it ? ” 

Neither cared to pretend that Lady Eynesford 
would approve of such a visit. 

“Oh, I slipped out,” said Alicia, nestling beside 
her friend. “Poor child! What things you 
have been through ! Still — you have Mr. Nor- 
burn.” 

“ Yes ; with him and father I really don’t mind.” 
She paused, and then there slipped out, in lower 
tone, a tell-tale “ Much.” 

Alicia answered it with a caress. 

“ How brave you are ! ” she said. “ Does — does 
he mind ? ” 

“Mr. Norburn?” 

“ I meant your father.” 

46 He has no time to mind now. We are fight- 
ing,” said Daisy. 

“Ah, a man can fight, can’t he? ” 

“ Oh, but so can a girl. I’m fighting too.” 

“ I’ve no one to fight for.” 

Daisy turned quickly toward her : there were 
tears in her eyes. Surely she was a sorry com- 
forter : perhaps she had come as much seeking as 
to bring comfort. 

“You don’t look very happy,” remarked Daisy. 

“Don’t talk about me, Daisy. It will never 
228 


THE UNCLEAN THING 

make the least difference between you and me. I 
wanted to tell you. You know we are going? 
You must write to me, dear, and some day you 
and Mr. Norburn must come to England and stay 
with me, when I have my own house. Promise 
now ! I — I don’t want to lose you quite.” 

“ Of course I will write, but you won’t care for 
our news when you are gone.” 

“ Indeed I shall care to hear of you and Mr. 
Norburn, and — of your father too.” 

“ Will you really ? Oh, then I shall have lots to 
say. Father always gives one lots to say about 
him,” said Daisy proudly. 

44 Tell him he mustn’t despair.” 

44 From you? ” 

44 No, no. From you.” 

44 Oh, of course I tell him that.” 

44 1 — I mustn’t send him any message. ” 

44 You’re not against him too, are you, Alicia?” 

44 I’m not much against him,” whispered Alicia. 
44 And, if any one says I am, Daisy, don’t believe it 
of me. I must go, dear. I shall be missed. I 
shall come again.” 

44 Do,” said Daisy. 44 I’m just a little lonely 
now,” and she nearly broke down, as Alicia took 
her in her arms. 

Thus they stood when Medland, suddenly re- 
turned on an urgent matter, opened the door, and, 
standing, looked at them for a moment. Alicia 
seemed to feel his presence; with a start she 
looked up. He crossed the room, holding out his 
hand. 

44 It is like you,” he said simply. 

She shook her head. 

44 1 — I did not know you were here.” 

229 


HALF A HERO 


“ I am not supposed to be,” he answered, kissing 
his daughter. 

Alicia hastily said good-bye, Medland not trying 
to detain her. But he signed to Daisy to stay in 
the room and escorted Alicia downstairs. 

At the hall door he kept her, laying his hand on 
the door. 

“Yes, that was very kind. Poor child! She 
wants friends.” 

“ I can do very little — I ” 

“ Yes, I know. And you are going ? ” 

“ Yes, in three weeks.” 

He was silent for a moment : then he looked in 
her eyes. 

“You know the worst now,” he said in alow 
voice. 

“ Yes,” she murmured, trying to escape his gaze. 

‘ * And you still say what you said before ? ” 

“ I — I say nothing. I must go.” 

“ Very likely we shall never speak alone again as 
long as we live — perhaps never at all.” 

“ Isn’t it best ? ” she murmured. 

“Best!” he echoed. “You are happy in it 
then?” 

“I happy! Ah!” 

He could not miss the meaning of her tone. 

“ Most people,” he said, “ would call me a crim- 
inal for what I am going to say — and you a fool if 
you listen. Alicia, will you face it all and come to 
me ? ” and he drew nearer to her. “ I know what 
I ask — but I know too what I have to give.” 

“ Let me go,” she gasped, as though his hand 
were on her. 

“ Can you do it ? ” he asked. “ I needn’t tell 
you to think what it means.” 

230 


THE UNCLEAN THING 


“I don’t mind that,” she broke out suddenly. 
“ Don’t think it’s that. I would face all that if — 

if I could ” 

“ Trust me ? ” 

She bowed her head. 

44 You can never trust me again ? " 

44 Why make me say it ? ” 

44 But it is so ? ” 

Again she bowed her head. 

44 It is still — horrible ? ” 

He drew back and opened the door, letting in 
the cool night air. 

44 Good-bye,” he said. 44 It’s your last word ? ” 
She seemed to sway toward him and away again. 
44 1 shan’t ask again,” he went on, still in that 
calm, low voice. 44 1 shall accept what you say 
now. You think me — unclean ? ” 

Her silence was answer as she stepped out into 
the path. 

44 For the last time !” 

44 1 can’t,” she said, with a sob. 44 You — you 
know why.” 

44 And yet, if you loved me ! ” 

44 Loved you ! ” she cried. 44 But no, no, no ! ” 
and she turned and disappeared in the gloom. 


231 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE DECISION OF THE ORACLE 

“ I see from Tomes,” observed Eleanor Scaife to 
the Chief Justice, as he handed her a cup of tea, 
“ that all the elections are on the same day in New 
Lindsey.” 

“ They are,” he answered. ‘ 4 A good thing, don’t 
you think ? ” 

“ But if a man wants to vote in two places ? ” 
‘‘Then it’s kind to prevent him, because if he 
does it he’s sent to prison.” 

“ Oh ! And when do the results appear ? ” 

“ Here at Kirton ? Oh, any time between nine 
and midnight, or an hour later. One or two are 
left over as a rule. They’re published at the Town- 
hall, and it’s generally rather a lively scene.” 

“ And how is it going to go ? ” 

The Chief Justice lowered his voice. 

“ Medland will be beaten. He can’t believe it 
and his friends won’t, but he’ll be beaten badly all 
over the country, except here in Kirton. Kirton 
he’ll carry pretty solid, but that won’t be enough.” 
“ How many seats are there here ? ” 

“ Oh, here and in this district, which is under 
Kirton influence, about two-and-twenty, and he 
ought to get eighteen or nineteen of them ; but 
what’s that out of eighty members ? ” 

“ And what’s the reason ? Merely his policy 

“ Well, his policy a good deal. All the manu- 

232 


THE DECISION OF THE ORACLE 

facturers and capitalists are straining every nerve 
to give him such a thrashing as will keep him out 
for years, and they spare neither time nor money 
nor hard words. I don’t blame ’em. And then, 
of course, the other thing counts. It hits him 
where he was strong — among the religious folk. 
Puttock’s their special man, and Puttock never lets 
it alone.” 

44 What, do they talk about it in public ? ” 

44 W ell, I should rather think they did. Oh, we 
fight with the gloves off in New Lindsey.” 

44 After all, if it’s a matter that ought to count, it 
ought to be talked about,” remarked Miss Scaife 
thoughtfully. 

44 1 suppose so,” answered Sir John doubtfully ; 
44 only it always sounds a little mean, you know. ” 

Eleanor did not attempt to reconcile this seem- 
ing contradiction. 

44 So Sir Robert will be back? Well, Mary will 
be delighted.” 

44 It doesn’t so much matter to her, as you’re 
going.” 

44 No, but she will. For my own part, I like Sir 
Robert, but his Government rather lacks variety, 
doesn’t it ? It’s not exactly thrilling.” 

44 That’s very high praise.” 

44 1 hardly meant it to be,” laughed Eleanor. 
44 However, as you say, it doesn’t matter much now 
to us.” 

44 No, nor to me.” 

44 Then it’s true you’re resigning ? ” 

44 Yes, in a few weeks. I’m just holding on 
to ” 

44 See this crisis through, I suppose? ” 

44 Oh dear, no. The crisis, as you call it, Miss 
233 


HALF A HERO 


Scaife, don’t matter to me — nor I to it. I’m 
holding on to complete another year’s service and 
get fifty pound more pension.” 

“ You’re very practical, Sir John.” 

“ High praise again ! ” 

“ Perhaps hardly meant again ! ” 

“ I’m sure Lady Eynesford teaches her house' 
hold the value of practicality.” 

“Well, Mary is practical; and I suppose Dick 
must be called so now — Miss Granger’s an excel- 
lent match. Oh, I suppose we all nass muster 
pretty well, except Alicia.” 

“ Miss Derosne is a visionary ? ” 

“ A little bit of one, I often tell her.” 

“ It’s an added grace in a pretty girl,” said Sir 
John. 

“ I said I was practical,” observed Miss Scaife. 

“ But you need no added graces,” he returned, 
smiling. 

“ A palpable evasion ! ” 

Some days had passed since Medland’s interview 
with Alicia. He had left Kirton the morning 
after, and, as the day of the election drew nearer 
and nearer, news of him came from all parts of the 
colony. Wherever the opposition was strongest 
and hostility most bitter, he flung himself into the 
fray ; at moments it seemed as though he would 
wrest victory from an adverse fate, but when he 
went away, the effect of his presence gradually 
evaporated, and his work was half undone before he 
had been gone a day. In the Governor’s house- 
hold the accounts of his doings were allowed to 
pass in silence ; they had become a forbidden topic. 
Alicia might devour them in solitude, and the 
Governor himself watch them with an almost svm- 
234 


THE DECISION OF THE ORACLE 


pathetic interest; Lady Eynesford ignored them 
altogether, and seemed not to see Medland’s 
colours and his watchwords that glared at her in 
the streets of Kirton. Sir Robert was quietly con- 
fident, and Kilshaw fiercely exultant; Medland’s 
friends hoped against hope, and, secure of their po- 
sition in the capital, flooded the country with eager 
missionaries. Passion ran high, and there had 
been one or two disturbing incidents. Sir Robert 
was refused a hearing in the Jubilee Hall ; Kil- 
shaw had been forced to escape violence by a hasty 
flight, when he tried to address a meeting in the 
North-East ward; and there had been something 
like a free fight between the factions in Kettle 
Street. Captain Heseltine stated his opinion that 
if Sir Robert won, there would be “ some fun ” in 
Kirton, and was understood to mean that the 
Queen’s Peace would be broken. Apparently the 
police authorities were of the same way of think- 
ing, for at their request all preparations were made 
for calling out the Mounted Volunteers. Lord 
Eynesford declared that he would stand no non- 
sense, and a certain number of timid persons made 
arrangements to be out of Kirton on the all-impor- 
tant day. 

At last it came, and wore itself away in a fever 
of excitement. While the poll was open there was 
no time to waste in quarrelling or parading, but 
in the evening, when the ballot-boxes were giving 
up their secret, the streets were crowded with dense 
throngs. The political leaders came dropping in 
from the country round. Medland was away and 
did not return, but Kilshaw was at the Club, and 
Puttock, all the local politicians, and most other 
men of note ; for the Club was nearly opposite the 
16 235 


HALF A HERO 


Hall, where the crowd was thickest, and where the 
result would soon be proclaimed. Just below, one 
Todd, a well-known mob-orator, had mounted on 
a large packing-case and was exhorting the people 
to stand by Medland, happen what might; the 
police had tried to get near him and prevent him 
causing an obstruction, but his friends formed so 
dense a ring and offered such resistance that the 
attempt was prudently abandoned, and the sound 
of Mr. Todd’s sweeping denunciations fell on the 
ears of the members as they talked within. 

“ I say, Kilshaw,” called Captain Heseltine, who 
was by the window, “ if you want to hear what you 
are, you’d better come here. Todd’s letting you 
have it.” 

Kilshaw lounged to the window and put his head 
out, smiling scornfully. 

“ A lot of loafers and thieves,” he remarked. 

The crowd saw him. He was the especial ob- 
ject of their anger, ever since his share in Benyon’s 
career had become public. He was greeted with 
an angry yell ; the orator, seizing the occasion, 
shook a huge fist at him. Kilshaw laughed in 
reply, holding his cigar in his hand. There was an 
ugly rush at the Club door ; an answering charge 
from the police ; some oaths and some screams. 

“ You’d better vanish,” suggested the Captain. 
“Your popularity is momentarily eclipsed.” 

“ Damn the fellows,” said Kilshaw. “ They may 
storm the place if they like — I’ll not move.” 

Matters were indeed becoming somewhat criti- 
cal, when a loud shout was heard from in front of 
the Hall. The crowd forgot Kilshaw, forgot Mr. 
Todd, and rushed across the road. The first 
result was up ! 


236 


THE DECISION OF THE ORACLE 

For the next half-hour wild exultation reigned in 
the streets, and gloom predominated in the Club. 
The Kirton returns came out first, and, as the 
Chief Justice had prophesied, Medland swept the 
capital from end to end. A solid band of twenty 
members was elected in his interest, and he him- 
self had an immense majority. The crowd was 
beside itself ; all thought of defeat was at an end ; 
they began to laugh, and smoke, and dive into the 
taverns in friendly groups to drink; they even 
flung jests up at Kilshaw, and only hooted good- 
humouredly when he cried, 

44 W ait a bit, my boys ! ” 

Thus an hour passed without further news. 
Then the country results began to arrive. Among 
the first was that from Medland’s own constitu- 
ency: he was beaten by above a hundred votes. 
Anticipated as this issue was, it was greeted with a 
loud groan, soon changed to an exultant cheer 
when it was declared that Coxon had lost his seat ; 
no event, short of the defeat of Kilshaw himself, 
would have pleased the crowd so much; even in 
the Club men seemed very resigned ; only Coxon’s 
little band mourned the fall of their chief. 

44 A facer for him,” remarked the Captain. Mr. 
Kilshaw smiled. 

44 Coxon generally falls on his feet,” he remarked. 

This victory was almost the last excuse the 
crowd found for cheering. The figures came in 
thick and fast now, and the tale they told was of 
Medland’s utter defeat. By twelve o’clock the 
issue in seventy-five seats was declared ; of the 
other five, four were safe for Sir Robert ; and 
Medland had only twenty-nine supporters. Put- 
tock and Sir Robert were returned, and Kilshaw 
237 


HALF A HERO 


had a triumphant majority. His was among the 
last announcements, and it was greeted with an 
angry roar of such volume that the Club window 
filled in a moment. The crowd, tired of their 
disappointing watch, turned away from the Jubilee 
Hall, and flocked together underneath the window. 

44 Why don’t you return thanks ? ” asked Cap- 
tain Heseltine. 

Kilshaw was drinking a glass of brandy and 
soda-water. He jumped up, glass in hand, and, 
going to the window, bowed to the angry mob and 
drank a toast to his own success before their eyes. 
Mr. Todd’s gross bulk pushed its way to the front. 

44 Come down here,” he shouted, 44 and talk to 
us, if you dare ! ” 

Kilshaw smilingly shook his head. 

44 Three cheers for Sir Robert ! ” he cried. 

44 How’s your friend Benham? ” shouted one. 

44 W e’ll serve you the same,” yelled another ; 
44 come down ; ” and a third, whose partisanship 
outran his moral sense, proposed a cheer for Mr. 
Francis Gaspard. 

44 1 think you’ll have to sleep here,” said the 
Captain. 

44 Not I,” answered Kilshaw. 44 They daren’t 
touch me.” 

44 Hum ! ” said the Captain, doubtfully regard- 
ing the crowd. 44 1 don’t know that I’d care to 
insure you, if you go down now.” 

44 We’ll take you through,” cried half-a-dozen 
young men, the sons of well-born or rich families, 
who were heart and soul with him, and asked for 
nothing better than a 44 row,” with any one indeed, 
but above all with the mob which they scorned, 
and which had out-voted them in their own town. 

288 


THE DECISION OF THE ORACLE 


The tramp of horses was heard outside. Two 
lines of mounted police were making their way 
slowly down the street. A moment later two 
voices sounded loud in altercation. The officer in 
command of the force was remonstrating with Big 
Todd ; Big Todd was asserting that he had as 
much right as any one else to stand in the middle 
of Victoria Street and speak to his friends ; the 
officer, strong in the letter of the law, maintained 
that no one, neither Big Todd nor another, had a 
right to adopt this course of action, or to do any- 
thing else than walk along the street whither his 
business might lead him. 

“And they call this free speech!” cried Big 
Todd. 

“ Get on with you,” said the officer. 

“Now’s your time,” remarked the Captain. 
“ Slip in between the two lines and you’ll get 
through.” 

Kilshaw and his volunteer escort accepted the 
suggestion, and, linking arms, walked down-stairs. 
The Captain, after a brief inward struggle, followed 
them. Their appearance at the Club door was the 
signal for fresh hoots and groans. 

“ Now then, are you going? ” said the officer to 
Big Todd. 

The burly fellow cast a look round on his sup- 
porters. 

“ When I’m tired o’ being here,” he answered. 

Kilshaw’s band slipped in between the first and 
second rank. The officer touched his horse with 
the spur, and it sprang forward. Big Todd, with 
an oath, caught the bridle, and another man seized 
the rider by the leg. He struck out sharply, and 
the line of police moved forward. 

239 


HALF A HERO 


“ Stand up to ’em, boys,” cried Big Todd, and he 
aimed a blow with his stick at his antagonist. 

The young men round Kilshaw looked at one 
another and began to press forward. They wanted 
to join in. 

A voice from behind them cried out warningly, 

“ None of that, gentlemen ! You must leave it 
to us,” and at the same instant the first rank seemed 
to leave them. The order to advance had been 
given, and the melee had begun. The rear rank 
advancing covered the members of the Club from 
attack. 

“We seem to be spectators,” observed Captain 
Heseltine, in a disappointed tone. He had ear- 
nestly hoped that some one would assault him. 

Just ahead the fight was hot round Bigg Todd. 
The police were determined to arrest him, and had 
closed round where he stood. The big man was 
fighting like a lion, and some half-dozen were try- 
ing to protect him. On either side of this group 
the line of police passed on, driving the crowd be- 
fore them. Their horses were trotting now, and the 
people ran before them or dodged into side streets 
and escaped. Big Todd and his little band were 
sore pressed. Todd was bleeding from the head 
and his right hand was numbed from a blow. He 
was down once, but up again in a second. As he 
rose, he caught sight of Kilshaw’s scornful smile, 
and, swearing savagely, with a sudden rush he 
burst the ring round him and made for the arch- 
enemy. Kilshaw raised his arm to shield himself, 
Captain Heseltine stepped forward and deftly put 
out his foot. Big Todd, tripped in the manner of 
the old football, fell heavily to the ground, striking 
his bullet poll on the hard road. 

240 


THE DECISION OF THE ORACLE 

Hector was slain. The Trojans scoured over 
the plain. Victoria Street was cleared, and Big 
Todd was borne on a stretcher to the police-station 
hard by. 

“ That fellow would have caught me a crack but 
for you, Heseltine,” said Mr. Kilshaw. 

A police-superintendent rode up. 

“ If you’d go home, gentlemen,” he said, “ our 
work would be easier. The trouble’s not all over 
yet, I’m afraid. I’ll send some of my men with 
you, Mr. Kilshaw, if you please, sir.” 

Kilshaw made a wry face. 

“ I wish I had my men,” he said. “ The Mounted 
Volunteers would teach these fellows a lesson.” 

“ W ell, we may see that before we’re many days 
older, sir,” answered the officer. “ Mr. Medland’ll 
be here to-morrow, and heaven knows what they’ll 
be up to then.” 


241 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


STEALING A MARCH 

Alicia Derosne had a fantastic dream that night. 
She saw Medland again chasing a butterfly, as she 
had seen him on the day he came to Government 
House to receive his office. The butterfly floated 
always just over his head, and he always came near 
to catching it, yet never caught it. Then, by one 
of sleep’s strange transformations, she seemed to be 
herself in spirit in the butterfly, and she knew that 
it flew so near because desire brought it, that it 
longed to be caught, and yet, at the last, by some sud- 
den impulse, avoided his net. At last, as if wearied, 
he turned from her to another fluttering thing, and 
that he caught. And she heard a great murmur 
of voices applauding him, and he smiled and was 
content with his prize. Then she, the first butter- 
fly, could not be happy unless she were caught also, 
envying the other, and she went and fluttered and 
spread her wings before his eyes, but he would not 
heed her, nor stretch the net over her, but smiled 
in triumph at the bright colours of his prize and 
the murmur of applause. And, with drooping 
wings, the first butterfly fell to the ground and 
died. 

It needed no Joseph to interpret this dream. 
When he had called, she would not come. Now 
he would forget her and turn to the life of ambi- 
tion and power that he loved. He would rule 
men, and trouble his head or his heart no more 
with the vagaries of girls and the strict scruples of 
242 


STEALING A MARCH 


their code. And she — what was there left for her? 

‘ ‘ The last time,” he had said. There was nothing 
for her to do but what the neglected butterfly had 
done. In a few weeks more the sea would lie be- 
tween them, and she would be no more to him, 
nor he to her, than a memory — a memory soon to 
fade in him, whose days and thoughts were so full; 
in her, it seemed, always to endure, ousting every- 
thing else, reigning in triumphant sorrow in an 
empty heart. 

The news of the final result of the elections 
which Eleanor Scaife brought her in the morning 
while she was still in bed, presented to her mind 
another picture of the man, which appealed to her 
almost more strongly. 

“ It’s a knock-down blow for Mr. Medland, isn’t 
it ? ” asked Eleanor, sitting on the side of the bed. 
“ As we’re alone together, I may dare to say that 
I’m rather sorry. I didn’t want him to win, but 
it’s very hard on him to be crushed like this. How 
he must feel it ! ” 

“ He seems to have won in Kirton.” 

“ Oh yes, just the town mob is with him. Fancy 
coming down to that ! Of course he’ll be quite 
powerless, compared to what he was. I wonder if 
he’ll stay in politics. Captain Heseltine said some 
people thought that he’d throw the whole thing up 
and retire into private life.” 

“ Yes, I’m sorry too,” said Alicia, who lay all 
this while with her face away from Eleanor and 
toward the wall. 

“ And then his daughter’s going to be married, 
and, of course, can never be such a companion to 
him as she has been; he’ll be very much alone. 
Upon my word, Alicia, I’m getting quite senti- 
243 


HALF A HERO 


mental about the man, and it’s all his own fault, 
really. Why does he make it impossible for re- 
spectable people to follow him ? ” After a short 
pause, Miss Scaife suddenly laughed. “Do you 
know,” she asked, “ what that shameless Dick 
says ? He says I ought to marry Mr. Medland, 
because were both ‘ emancipated.’ Really I’m not 
quite so 4 emancipated ’ as Mr. Medland seems to 
be.” 

Alicia smiled faintly. 

“ What an idea ! ” she said, at last turning her 
face to her friend. 

“ He was only joking, of course. Assuming Mr. 
Medland asked me, and I’m sure nothing could be 
further from his thoughts, I’m afraid I should have 
to decline the honour. Wasn’t it impertinent of 
Dick ? It’s lucky Mary didn’t hear him. But, 
my dear, you must get up. All sorts of things are 
going on. It’s most exciting.” 

“ I thought all the excitement was over,” said 
Alicia languidly. 

“Oh, no. There was a riot in the streets last 
night, and they arrested some popular favourite 
and took him to prison. The mob’s furious, and 
the police are afraid of a disturbance when he’s 
brought before the magistrate this morning. Then 
Mr. Medland is to arrive at twelve o’clock, and 
they’re afraid of another riot then. Sir Robert 
was here at half-past eight, and at his request the 
Governor authorised calling out the Mounted Vol- 
unteers to keep order. Lord Eynesford says he’ll 
go with them. Do get up,” and Eleanor went off, 
eager to hear the latest news. The present situa- 
tion was justifying her tenacious opinion that new 
communities were interesting. 

244 


STEALING A MARCH 


In spite of her many inquiries, her intelligence 
was not quite the latest. The police had stolen 
a march on the crowd, and Big Todd had been 
quietly brought before the seat of justice at nine 
o’clock, remanded for a week, and carried off to the 
prison, which was situated outside the town, about 
half-a-mile beyond Government House. The van 
containing the captive had rolled unsuspected 
through the streets, and it was not till the crowd had 
waited an hour outside the court that the secret 
leaked out. The outwitted men were in a fury. 
The mounted police lined the sides of the street, 
and their impassive demeanour seemed to rouse the 
mob to fresh anger. There had been a plan to res- 
cue Big Todd, now it was too late, and men looked 
at one another in sullen wrath. The crowd drifted 
off toward the railway station, thinking to welcome 
Medland. The Mounted Volunteers were on guard 
there. They saw Kilshaw at the head of his com- 
pany and hailed him with a groan. Behind the 
ranks, the Governor sat on his horse, flanked by his 
aides-de-camp and talking to Sir Robert Perry. 
No one was allowed within the station-yard, every 
one was compelled to move about, the preparations 
were complete, to riot would be to run against a 
stone wall. 

Suddenly an idea, a suggestion, flew through the 
crowd. It was greeted with surly smiles and em- 
phatic nods. To the surprise of the officers and 
of the Governor, the crowd began to melt away. 
Splitting up in twos and threes, it sauntered off, as 
if it had made up its mind to submit quietly to the 
inevitable. Soon only women and children were 
left, and the Governor began to feel that the array 
of force was almost ridiculously out of proportion 
245 


HALF A HERO 


to the need. The whole thing was, as Captain 
Heseltine regretfully observed, 44 fizzling out,” and 
he proposed to go home to lunch. 

Medland’s train arrived half-an-hour later, and 
he came out of the station, looking round in sur- 
prise at the martial aspect of the scene. Then he 
smiled. 

44 We look rather asses,” whispered Heseltine. 
44 1 wonder if they did it on purpose.” 

Medland came down the steps and found himself 
almost face to face with Kilshaw. The ex-Premier 
was smoking a cigar, and he took it out of his 
mouth, in order to smile more freely. 

44 If,” he said to Kilshaw, 44 it’s not dangerous to 
public order, I should like a cab.” 

Kilshaw heard a shamefaced, stifled giggle from 
his men behind him and turned very red. The 
next minute Sir Robert came up, holding out his 
hand. 

44 This is a great compliment to you,” he said, 
smiling. 

44 Evidently beyond my deserts,” answered Med- 
land, getting into his cab. 44 To my house,” he 
called to the man, and was driven rapidly away. 

The Governor rode up to Sir Robert with a look 
of vexation on his face. 

4 4 The sooner we end this farce the better,” he 
said. 44 I’m going home. I suppose you’ll send 
the men to quarters.” 

44 1 really don’t understand it,” protested Sir 
Robert. 44 They looked like mischief.” 

44 1 suppose we frightened them. Oh, no doubt 
you were right,” and the Governor turned his 
horse. 

Suddenly the figure of a man on horseback, 
246 


STEALING A MARCH 


going at a gallop, was seen in the distance. The 
Governor drew rein and waited. The man came 
nearer, and, as soon as he was within earshot, he 
shouted, 

“ The prison ! the prison ! They’ve all gone to 
the prison.” 

“ What ? ” cried the Governor. 

“ All the crowd,” panted the messenger. “ They 
mean to have Big Todd out. We’ve only got ten 
men there, and the people are threatening to burn 
the place down if he’s not given up.” 

“ By Jove, they’ve jockeyed us! ” cried Captain 
Heseltine, and he turned to his chief for orders. 

“We must be after them,” exclaimed the Gov- 
ernor. “ Let the orders be given. You, Hesel- 
tine, go and bring up the police. This looks like 
business.” 

The column was soon on the march, followed by 
a string of women and children, which was speed- 
ily outstripped when the word to trot was given. 
The outskirts of the town were reached ; they met 
man after man who told them of a gathering crowd 
round the prison ; they overtook more men, armed 
with cudgels, who slunk on one side and tried to 
hide their sticks. They reached the gates of Gov- 
ernment House, and Lord Eynesford spied his 
wife and Alicia looking out of the windows of the 
lodge. 

“ Go and tell them what’s up,” he said to 
Flemyng. “ Say there’s no danger,” and the col- 
umn trotted on. 

“ This is what Mr. Medland has brought us to,” 
observed Lady Eynesford, when Mr. Flemyng 
made his report. “I’m glad we’ve done with him, 
anyhow, aren’t you, Eleanor? ” 

247 


HALF A HERO 


“ Perhaps we haven’t,” suggested Eleanor. “ I 
wonder if he’s come back.” 

“No doubt he’s encouraging this riot. I only 
hope he’ll get the treatment he deserves.” 

Alicia stood by in silence. The little room felt 
close and hot. She was tired and worn out, for 
she had spent the morning writing a letter that 
seemed very hard to write. 

“ Mightn’t we go into the garden ? ” she asked. 
“ There’s no danger to us, is there, Mr. Flemyng? ” 

“ Oh dear, no, Miss Derosne. They're only 
thinking of Big Todd. I’ll go on if you don’t 
want me, Lady Eynesford.” 

He trotted off and overtook the rest just as they 
came in sight of the prison. The crowd was thick 
round it. 

“ By heaven, they’ve got the door open ! ” cried 
Heseltine. 

They had. The heavy door hung on its hinges, 
and, as the Governor drew nearer, he saw the pris- 
oner, Big Todd himself, in the centre of the crowd. 
There were near three thousand there, almost all 
men; most had sticks, here and there the sun 
caught the gleam of a knife or the glint from a 
revolver-barrel. A rude kind of rampart of the 
tables and chairs from the gaol formed a slight 
makeshift barricade, and behind it, the crowd, 
backed by the building, stood waiting for the 
attack. 

The Governor halted. 

“ It really looks rather serious,” he said. 

Sir Robert Perry, whose fat cob was panting 
with unusual exertions, nodded assent. 

“ We don’t want bloodshed, if we can help it,” 
he observed. 


248 


STEALING A MARCH 


“No, but we’ll have that fellow,” said the Gov- 
ernor curtly, “ or I’ll know the reason why.” 

His old instincts were astir in him. He had 
been a soldier in his time, and he almost regretted 
that his first duty was to reason with these men. 
Endeavouring to carry out this duty, he said to 
Heseltine, 

“ Go and say I’ll give them three minutes to 
hand over Todd and disperse.” 

Heseltine rode forward till he came to the barri- 
cade and delivered his message, adding, 

“ Look sharp. There you are, Todd ! Now 
come along, my man.” 

“ Come and fetch me,” grinned Big Todd. 

“ So we will,” answered the Captain, smiling, 
“ but you’d better come quietly.” 

“ Look here, sir. Say no more about what hap- 
pened last night and we’ll give the Governor back 
his prison. We ain’t hurt it, not to speak of.” 

Heseltine laughed. 

“ You’re an insolent scoundrel,” he said. 

“You’d better get a bit further off before you 
talk like that, young man,” growled a fierce-look- 
ing little fellow. 

“ Let the gentleman alone, Tim,” said Big Todd. 
“ He’s a flag o’ truce.” 

“ Then you won’t come ? ” asked the Captain. 

“ Declined with thanks, sir,” bowed Big Todd. 

Heseltine rode back and delivered the reply. 
An angry flush crossed Lord Eynesford’s face. 

“ Very well,” he said shortly, and turned to the 
Colonel. “ Colonel,” he said, “ I want your men 
to scatter that crowd and bring Todd here. Don’t 
fire without asking me again. Use the flat of the 
sword unless the crowd use knives or shoot; if 
249 


HALF A HERO 

they do, use the edge. I can’t come with you, I 
wish I could.” 

“ May I go, sir ? ” broke simultaneously from 
Dick and Heseltine. 

“No,” answered Lord Eynesford shortly. 

“ What a damned shame ! ” grumbled Dick. 

The Colonel had spoken to the captains of his 
two companies, Kilshaw and another, and they in 
their turn had briefly communicated the Governor’s 
orders to their men. Everything was ready, and 
the Colonel turned a last inquiring glance toward 
the Governor. 

“ Yes,” said Lord Eynesford; but at the same 
moment a loud cheer rang out from the defenders 
of the gaol — * 

“ Three cheers for Jimmy Medland ! ” they 
cried. 

The Governor turned and saw the ex- Premier 
leaping from a cab and hurrying toward them. 

“ Stop ! ” cried Medland. “ Stop ! ” 


250 


CHAPTER XXIX 


A BEATEN MAN’S THOUGHTS 

On reaching his home, Medland had found that 
Norburn had arrived before him, and was engaged 
in the task of consoling Daisy for the untoward 
issue of the fight. Daisy, on her part, was full of 
praise for the valour of Big Todd, and delighted to 
hear of the sort of fiasco that had waited on the 
military display at the station. Safe from the eyes 
of all save those who loved him, Medland did not 
maintain the indifferent air that he had displayed 
in public. In vain they reminded him of the swift 
reactions in political affairs, of the sturdy band that 
still owned his leadership, and of the devotion of 
all Kirton to him, or bade him think that he was 
himself almost a young man, and that this defeat 
was but a check and not an end to his career. For 
the moment the buoyancy was out of him ; he did 
not care to discuss hopes or projects, and sat silent 
in his chair, while Norburn sketched new cam- 
paigns and energetic raids on Sir Robert’s position. 
Daisy knew her father : these hours of despond- 
ency were the penalty he paid for the glowing 
confidence and rebounding hope that had made 
him the man and the power he was. 

“ Let him alone a little while,” she whispered to 
her lover. “ Something will rouse him soon, and 
he’ll be himself again. ” 

She put his letters by him, and the two left him 
to solitude in his study. He was vaguely surprised 

17 351 


HALF A HERO 


that no crowd had assembled to escort him to his 
house, and that the street was so quiet ; he sup- 
posed that his adherents felt much as he did, too 
discouraged to make a parade, or try to hide their 
wounds under the pretence of a brave show ; yet 
he was sensitive enough to every breath of popu- 
lar sentiment to be hurt at the first sign of neglect. 
Perhaps they had had enough of him, perhaps they 
were looking for a new leader. No; that could 
hardly be, or they would not have elected all his 
friends. It was just that they felt as he did, beaten, 
soundly beaten, and had fled to their dens to lick 
their sores. 

He listlessly stretched out his hand toward the 
letters and began to open them. Here were be- 
lated requests for help or advice, calculations of 
majorities and prophecies of victory, written at 
the last moment in unquenchable faith, to be read 
now with a weary smile of irony. Here too were 
honest, admiring condolences. “ Better luck next 
time ” — “ Never despair,” and so forth — side by side 
with anonymous and scurrilous gloatings over his 
fall. Once he laughed out loud : a zealous student 
compared him at length and in detail to Cleon, 
and ended with an ode of triumph which, he said, 
would appear in the press the next day or so. 
Medland pushed the heap away with an impatient 
sigh, but one note remained under his hand and he 
took it up, for it seemed different from the rest. 
He undid the envelope and glanced at the signa- 
ture ; then he sat up in sudden interest, for it was 
signed “ Alicia Derosne.” 

“ You will be surprised,” she said, “ that I should 
write ; but I doubted if you understood the other 
night, and I can’t be misunderstood by you. If 
252 


A BEATEN MAN S THOUGHTS 


you were what I once thought you, I would do all 
you ask, whatever it cost me, but I can’t now. 
It’s all different now. That thing makes it all 
different. You will think it a poor reason and a 
strange idea — I know you will ; but your thinking 
it strange is just what makes it strongest to me. 
You may not understand — I’m afraid you won’t — 
but you must believe that that is the only thing. 
Please don’t try to see me, but send one line to 
say you believe me. — Alicia Derosne. Good- 
bye.” 

At first he thought of what he read only as a fresh 
defeat, another drop of bitterness in a brimming 
cup, and he let the letter fall, despising himself for 
caring about such a matter. But he took it up 
again and re-read it, and the ‘ 4 Good-bye,” at the 
end — the stifled cry of pain — touched him; she 
had finished the letter before she wrote that, for its 
ink was paler; the rest had dried, that had been 
hastily blotted ; it was an after-impulse, a hint of 
the struggle with which she left her tenderness un- 
expressed. He pictured so well how she looked 
writing it, making her sacrifice at the altar of what 
she held holy in herself. Whether she were right 
or wrong seemed now to his softer mood to be of 
little moment. He could not think that she was 
right, and yet it suited her so well to be wrong on 
such a point that he could hardly wish her to have 
been what to his mind seemed right. With the 
strange feeling of the end of things, of finality, that 
his defeat and despondency had brought to him, 
her decision fitted well. She would not come to 
him, but the ideal of her rested beautiful in the 
delicate pride and fastidiousness of her scruples 
and her purity. The sort of life he must lead, no 
253 


HALF A HERO 


less than that he had led, must needs have soiled 
the image and stained its spotless white. He was 
conscious that his reception of what she said was 
half the outcome of the moment in which her de- 
cision reached him; but yet he could not look 
before him, and the idea of himself, restored to 
his former mind, scornfully mocking what now 
claimed reverence, angrily fighting against a merely 
fanciful hindrance, failed to dress itself like reality, 
though experience, half-smothered, protested that 
it would prove real. Now he was very sorry for 
her and for himself ; but it was the sorrow of ac- 
quiescence, the pain of a vision that never could 
have had fulfilment, not the fierce disappointment 
of well-grounded hope. Though she were passing 
out of his life, yet she would always be in it and 
of it, and their unhappiness seemed to him a tie as 
close as could have been knit between them by any 
union. 

He was interrupted by the entrance of his 
daughter and Norburn. They were troubled, as 
a glance at their happy faces told him, by no sense 
of the end of things ; they were at the beginning, 
and he was amused to find that, while they de- 
plored his defeat sincerely and resented it hotly, it 
yet had a bright side to them. It set Jack Nor- 
burn at liberty ; he had now no official ties and 
there would be a lull in politics. How should two 
young people use such an interval better than in 
getting married ? 

“ How indeed ? ” said Mr. Medland, smiling. 

“Then when we’re comfortably married,” said 
Daisy, “ and you’ve had a little rest, we’ll have at 
Sir Robert again, father ! Oh, and I’m so glad 
those tiresome Eynesfords are going — except 
254 


A BEATEN MANS THOUGHTS 

Alicia, I mean; I like her. I do hope the next 
people won’t be quite so — ” And Daisy’s gesture 
indicated the inhuman exclusiveness and pride 
supposed to be harboured at Government House. 

“ Well, we go our way and they go theirs,” said 
Norburn, with his good-humoured laugh. “ We’re 
happy in ours, I hope they’re happy in theirs. 
Then, as soon as Daisy can be ready, sir ? ” 

“ Yes, as soon as Daisy can be ready,” assented 
Medland. 

When, after thanks and some more rose-coloured 
prophecies, they were gone together, he rose and, 
hands in pockets, paced up and down the narrow 
room. 

“ Really, young Norburn has got the philosophy 
of it,” he mused. “ He takes my daughter, and his 
philosophy takes the only other woman I care 
about ! But I believe, after all, that it’s bad 
philosophy.” 

He stretched his arms in weariness. 

“ Ah, I feel burnt out ! ” he said, sinking back 
into his chair. “ I must answer this,” and he took 
up Alicia’s note again, only to fold it up and put 
it in his pocket. 

“I can’t do it now. I must have some fresh 
air,” he exclaimed petulantly. “ This place suffo- 
cates me.” 

He opened the window and hailed a hack- 
victoria that was crawling by. Calling to Daisy 
to tell her he was going for a drive, he ran down- 
stairs and jumped in. 

“ Go to the Park,” he said. “You needn’t 
hurry.” 

The air revived his spirits. He leant back, 
sniffing its freshness, and finding the world very 
255 


HALF A HERO 


good. He met few people about and no one that 
he knew. The Park was empty, and the old horse 
jogged along peacefully. Insensibly he found 
himself thinking about what would happen when 
the new House met, and sparing a smile for 
Coxon’s defeat, though he was afraid that gentle- 
man would be only too well provided for. It 
struck him that a pitfall or two lay in Sir Robert’s 
path, and he saw his way to giving Kilshaw a 
bad quarter of an hour over one of his election 
speeches. The only thing that he could not get 
away from was the thought of Alicia Derosne. 
He knew that there was to be nothing more 
between him and her, and that she was going 
away soon, never to return to, soon in all proba- 
bility to forget, New Lindsey; yet all his doings 
and activities in the future — and his brain began 
now to be swift to plan them again — presented 
themselves to him, not in the actual happening, 
but as they would look when read by her. This 
lover’s madness irritated him so much that at last 
he took her letter from his pocket and tore it into 
little bits, scattering them on the breeze. He 
could answer it well enough from memory, and 
perhaps it would be easier to be his own man 
again when he had no tangible, material reminder 
of her with him. These things only made a man 
nurse and cosset fine-drawn feelings, spying curi- 
ously into a heart that might get well if it were 
covered up and left alone. 

A cheery voice roused him, and his carriage 
stopped. 

“Well, tearing up your bills, eh?” called the 
Chief Justice from the side- walk. “You must be 
glad to be out of it.” 


256 


A BEATEN MAN’S THOUGHTS 


“ Not I,” answered Medland, smiling. “ Among 
other things, I wanted to appoint your successor.” 

“Ah, dreadful, dreadful! Young Coxon, isn’t 
it? I’ve been laid up with a cold, and seen and 
heard nothing, but I fancy that’s right.” 

“ I suppose he’ll do pretty well, but he’s not the 
right man to come after you. However, I am 
powerless now.” 

“Yes, order is safe again. By the way, I hear 
your friends made a little disturbance last night.” 

“Oh, yes; that headstrong fellow Todd. We 
can never hold him. It came to nothing, I sup- 
pose ? ” 

“ They arrested him, you know. But, Medland, 
I doubt ” 

The driver turned round suddenly. 

“ Did you say Medland, sir? ” he asked the Chief 
Justice. “ Is this gentleman Mr. Medland? ” 

“ What, didn’t you know me? ” 

“ No, sir; I’m only just out from England. But, 
if you’re Mr. Medland, don’t you know, sir — 
begging your pardon — what’s happened about 
Todd? ” 

“No; what?” 

“ There’s a fine row up at the prison, sir. Two 
or three thousand of ’em went up there this morn- 
ing to take him out, and the Governor’s up there 
with the Volunteers, and they say there’s going to 
be a big fight and ” 

“ The fools ! ” exclaimed Medland. “ I must go, 
Chief Justice.” 

“ Why, what can you do? ” 

“ Stop it, of course. Here, drive to the prison — 
drive like fury. Good-bye, Chief Justice. Come 
and see me soon. Get on, man, get on 1 ” 

257 


HALF A HERO 


The old horse was whipped up unmercifully, and 
the Chief Justice watched Medland disappear in a 
cloud of dust. He took off his hat to wipe his 
brow. Two little fragments of the white paper 
which Medland scattered had settled upon it. 

“Poof!” The Chief Justice blew them off and 
they fluttered down on the grass. He stooped and 
picked up the larger bit. If he had looked at it, 
he would have read 4 4 Good-bye ” ; but he did not. 
The amber end of his cigar ette-tu be was loose : 
he unscrewed it, twisted the little bit of paper 
round the screw, and fitted the end on again. 

“Capital!” said the Chief Justice. 44 It might 
have been made for it. Poor old Medland ! ” 


258 


CHAPTER XXX 


THE END OF A TUMULT 

“Stop!” he shouted; “stop!” and, taking ad- 
vantage of the momentary pause, he made his way 
to the Governor. 

“ Let me speak to them, sir,” he said ; “ I think 
I can bring them to reason.” 

But Lord Eynesford’s spirit was roused. 

“ I must request you to leave the matter to me, 
Mr. Medland,” he answered stiffly. “ They have 
had their opportunity of submitting to the law 
peaceably, and they have chosen to disregard it.” 

“ If you will give me five minutes, sir,” said 
Medland, very humbly. He loved the rough fel- 
lows who were acting so foolishly : perhaps some- 
thing in his words had given them an excuse. He 
could not bear to think of them coming to harm, 
even through their own fault. 

“I can’t, sir,” answered the Governor sharply. 
“ I have the dignity of the Crown, which I repre- 
sent, to think of. Pray stand aside, sir ; ” and he 
added to the Colonel — “Your orders are not al- 
tered. ’ ’ 

Medland’s quick eye measured the distance be- 
tween him and the rioters. He was standing near 
the Governor, at the side of the troops, but a little 
in advance of their line. A run might bring him 
to them before the troops could reach them. If 
they did not resist there could be no bloodshed. 
There was yet a chance, and suddenly he dashed 
259 


HALF A HERO 

across in front of the line, crying, “Don’t resist ! 
don’t resist ! ” 

At the very moment of his start the Colonel had 
given the word to charge. No man saw clearly 
how it happened, but there was a forward dash, 
then an exclamation from one of the Volunteers, 
as he reined his horse back on its haunches, a wild 
cry from the barricade, and a loud shout, “ Halt ! ” 
from Kilshaw. The line was stopped, and Kilshaw 
rode swiftly up to where the trooper had wrenched 
back his horse. Medland lay on the ground in 
front of the horse. The man had seen him too late 
to avoid him ; he had been knocked down and 
trampled with the hoofs. His face was pale, and a 
slight twist of the features told of pain. He held 
his hand to his right side. 

Kilshaw was off his horse in an instant. 

“ Back there, back ! ” he cried. “ Don’t crowd 
on him.” 

The Governor rode up ; a group gathered round. 
There was no more thought of the charge. The 
rioters, after an instant, broke the barricade and 
came out, one by one, timidly making for the spot. 

“ Here,” whispered Kilshaw to Dick Derosne, 
“you lift his head. He won’t want to see me,” 
and he drew back behind the wounded man. 

The Governor dismounted and stood by his 
brother, but before Dick could lift Medland’s head, 
a rough woman, in a coarse gown, pushed through, 
elbowing him and Lord Eynesford aside. 

“ Let me, gentlemen,” she said, her eyes full of 
tears, as she pillowed his head in her lap. “ He’s 
always been for us, Mr. Medland has,” she ex- 
plained. “Give me a clean handkerchief, one of 
you.” 


260 


THE END OF A TUMULT 


The Governor handed his, and she wiped the 
clammy moisture from the forehead and hands. 

Medland opened his eyes. 

‘ 4 The horse kicked me in the side, ” he murmured 
faintly, “here, on the right — low down. I’m in 
pain.” 

Then he saw Dick Derosne. 

“ Mr. Derosne ! ” he called faintly, and Dick 
knelt down to listen. “ Tell your sister I believe.’ 

“ What ? ” asked Dick in sheer surprise. 

“ You heard ? ” asked Medland petulantly. 

“ Yes — that you believe.” 

“ W ell, tell her,” and he turned away his head. 

There was a little bustle outside the group, and 
then Big Todd burst through. 

“ Is he killed ? ” he cried. 

Medland saw him and stretched out his hand. 
Big Todd caught it, and the dying man pressed 
the fellow’s knotted fist. Perhaps he saw in Todd 
the type of the “ Great Beast,” clumsy, often 
wrong-headed, but honest at heart, that he loved 
and worked for. 

“ What did you want to be such an infernal fool 
for, man ? ” he said, with a little smile. Then his 
eyes closed, and the woman wiped his forehead and 
kissed him. 

The group round him drew back, leaving the 
woman and Todd near him. Presently some 
dozen of the rioters brought the top of a table 
from their barricade, and lifted him on to it. Then 
Big Todd spoke to the Governor. 

“There’ll be no more fighting,” he said. “I’ll 
give myself up, but I’d like to help the chaps to 
take him home first.” 

The Governor nodded, and they raised the table 
261 


HALF A HERO 


on their shoulders and set out for Kirton. Behind 
them came the woman and a few more of the same 
class ; some children stole out from the back of the 
gaol and took their places. After them marched 
the rioters, and last of all the Governor, his party, 
and the troops. And in this order the procession 
passed along. And some time before it had gone 
far, Medland bled to death inwardly; his strength 
failed him and he gave a convulsive shiver, opened 
his eyes for the last time to the sky, and then lay 
still under the rough coat that Big Todd had 
thrown over him. 

“Dick, Dick,” whispered the Governor, when 
they came near Government House, “ ride on and 
tell them.” 

Lady Eynesford, Eleanor Scaife, and Alicia were 
standing at the gate. They had hardly seen the 
procession turn a corner and come into sight be- 
fore Dick galloped up. 

“ What is it, Dick ? ” cried Lady Eynesford. 
“ Willie’s not hurt? ” 

“No — it’s — it’s Mr. Medland.” 

Eleanor was standing by Alicia, and she felt a 
sudden clutch on her arm. 

“ What has happened ? ” she asked. 

“I’m afraid he’s very badly hurt,” answered 
Dick, and drawing near his sister he whispered. 
“ Al, he sent you a message. I don’t know what 
it means, but — he believes.” 

One swift glance told him she heard, then her 
eyes fixed themselves on the advancing crowd, and 
the burden the men carried. 

They halted a moment. The table was lowered ; 
a man — apparently a doctor — had ridden up. He 
looked at the burden they bore, then he spread 
262 


THE END OF A TUMULT 


the rough coat again over the body and signed to 
them to go on. Dick stepped forward and asked a 
question. Returning, he said briefly, 

" He’s dead.” 

Alicia swayed heavily against Eleanor Scaife. 
Eleanor threw her arm round her waist, and an- 
swered the moan she heard with — “ Hush, dar- 
ling ! ” while Alicia, with parted lips and straining 
eyes, watched him carried by. 

As they had escorted him home on the day when 
he first became their ruler, so they took him to his 
home now, the throng of mourners ever growing 
as the people poured out of the town to meet 
them, until they reached his house and halted be- 
fore his door, waiting for some one who should 
dare to carry the news to the fair-haired girl who 
had met him in triumph when he came before. 

In Kirton the name of “ Jimmy Medland ” is 
still remembered, and his grave does not lack con- 
tinual flowers. In far-off England few remember 
him, and his name is seldom spoken, save when a 
very old white-haired man comes to stay with a 
lady in one of the Midland shires. Then, when 
they are alone, when her husband has gone hunt- 
ing and the children are away, and there is no 
other ear to listen, Alicia will sometimes talk to 
Sir John of Mr. Medland, what he was and was 
not, what he did and dreamed, how he lived and 
died, and how the men of Kirton love his memory. 

“ It all seems like a dream now,” she says, “ but 
it’s a dream I can never forget.” 

And Sir John presses her hand, for perhaps he 
guesses what she has not told him. 

His daughter wrote on his tomb nothing except 
263 


HALF A HERO 


his name; but a wandering Englishman, who heard 
his story, and recollected the grave of another who 
died with his work undone, has rudely scratched at 
the base, near the ground, where the grass half 
hides it, an epitaph for him — Plura moliebatur. 
And he told Big Todd, whom he chanced to find 
smoking his evening pipe hard by, that it meant 
“ He had more work in hand.” 

“ Ay, trust old Jimmy ! ” said Big Todd, with a 
curious wave of his great hand toward the grave. 
Had such a thing been at all in his way, one might 
have thought it was a benediction. 


THE END. 


264 


FATHER STAFFORD 


FATHEK STAFFORD 


CHAPTER I 

EUGENE LANE AND HIS GUESTS 

The world considered Eugene Lane a very fortu- 
nate young man ; and if youth, health, social repu- 
tation, a seat in Parliament, a large income, and 
finally the promised hand of an acknowledged 
beauty can make a man happy, the world was 
right. It is true that Sir Roderick Ayre had been 
heard to pity the poor chap on the ground that his 
father had begun life in the workhouse ; but every- 
body knew that Sir Roderick was bound to exalt 
the claims of birth, inasmuch as he had to rely 
solely upon them for a reputation, and discounted 
the value of his opinion accordingly. After all, it 
was not as if the late Mr. Lane had ended life in 
the undesirable shelter in question. On the con- 
trary, his latter days had been spent in the hand- 
some mansion of Millstead Manor; and, as he lay 
on his deathbed, listening to the Rectors gentle 
homily on the vanity of riches, his eyes could wan- 
der to the window and survey a wide tract of land 
that he called his own, and left, together with 
immense sums of money, to his son, subject only 
to a jointure for his wife. It is hard to blame the 
tired old man if he felt, even with the homily ring- 
ing in his ears, that he had not played his part in 
the world badly. 

18 


1 


FATHER STAFFORD 


Millstead Manor was indeed the sort of place to 
raise a doubt as to the utter vanity of riches. It 
was situated hard by the little village of Millstead, 
that lies some forty miles or so northwest of Lon- 
don, in the middle of rich country. The neighbour- 
hood afforded shooting, fishing, and hunting, if not 
the best of their kind, yet good enough to satisfy 
reasonable people. The park was large and well 
wooded ; the house had insisted on remaining pict- 
uresque in spite of Mr. Lane’s improvements, and 
by virtue of an indelible stamp of antiquity had 
carried its point. A house that dates from Eliza- 
beth is not to be entirely put to shame by one or 
two unblushing French windows and other trifling 
barbarities of that description, more especially 
when it is kept in countenance by a little church 
of still greater age, nestling under its wing in a 
manner that recalled the good old days when the 
lord of the manor was lord of the souls and bodies 
of his tenants. Even old Mr. Lane had been mel- 
lowed by the influence of his new home, and before 
his death had come to play the part of Squire far 
more respectably than might be imagined. Eu- 
gene sustained the role with the graceful indolence 
and careless efficiency that marked most of his 
doings. 

He stood one Saturday morning in the latter 
part of July on the steps that led from the terrace 
to the lawn, holding a letter in his hand and softly 
whistling. In appearance he was not, it must be 
admitted, an ideal Squire, for he was but a trifle 
above middle height, rather slight, and with the 
little stoop that tells of the man who is town-bred 
and by nature more given to indoor than outdoor 
exercises ; but he was a good-looking fellow for all 
2 


EUGENE LANE AND HIS GUESTS 


that, with a bright, humourous face, — though at 
this moment rather a bored one, — large eyes set 
well apart, and his proper allowance of brown hair 
and white teeth. Altogether, it may safely be said 
that not even Sir Roderick’s nose could have 
sniffed the workhouse in the young master of Mill- 
stead Manor. 

Still whistling, Eugene descended the steps and 
approached a group of people sitting under a large 
copper-beech tree. A still, hot summer morning 
does not incline the mind or the body to activity, 
and all of them had sunk into attitudes of ease. 
Mrs. Lane’s work was reposing in her lap ; her 
sister, Miss Jane Chambers, had ceased the pre- 
tense of reading ; the Rector was enjoying what 
he kept assuring himself was only just five minutes’ 
peace before he crossed over to his parsonage and 
his sermon ; Lady Claudia Territon and Miss 
Katharine Bernard were each in possession of a 
wicker lounge, while at their feet lay two young 
men in flannels, with lawn-tennis racquets lying 
idle by them. A large jug of beer close to the 
elbow of one of them completed the luxurious 
picture that was framed in a light cloud of tobacco 
smoke, traceable to the person who also was obvi- 
ously responsible for the beer. 

As Eugene approached, a sudden thought 
seemed to strike him. He stopped deliberately, 
and with great care lit a cigar. 

46 Why wasn’t I smoking, I wonder ! ” he said. 
“ The sight of Bob Territon reminded me.” Then, 
as he reached them, raising his voice, he went on : 

44 Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry to interrupt 
you, and with bad news.” 

44 What is the matter, dear ? ” asked Mrs. Lane, 
3 


FATHER STAFFORD 


a gentle old lady, who having once had the cour- 
age to leave the calm of her fathers country vicar- 
age to follow the doubtful fortunes of her husband, 
was now reaping her reward in a luxury of which 
she had never dreamed. 

44 With the arrival of the 4.15 this afternoon,” 
Eugene continued, 44 our placid life will be inter- 
rupted, and one of Mr. Eugene Lane, M.P.’s, cele- 
brated Saturday to Monday parties (I quote from 
the The Universe) will begin.” 

44 Who’s coming ? ” asked Miss Bernard. 

Miss Bernard was the acknowledged beauty re- 
ferred to in the opening lines of this chapter, whose 
love Eugene had been lucky enough to secure. 
Had Eugene not been absurdly rich himself, he 
might have been congratulated further on the pros- 
pective enjoyment of a nice little fortune as well as 
the lady’s favour. 

44 Is Rickmansworth coming ? ” put in Lady 
Claudia, before Eugene had time to reply to his 

fiancee . 

44 Be at peace,” he said, addressing Lady Claudia; 
44 your brother is not coming. I have known Rick- 
mansworth a long while, and I never knew him to 
be polite. He inquired by telegram, reply not 
paid, who were to be here. When I wired him, 
telling him whom I had the privilege of entertain- 
ing, and requesting an immediate reply (not paid), 
he answered that he thought I must have enough 
Territons already, and he didn’t want to make an- 
other.” 

Neither Lady Claudia nor her brother Robert, 
who was the young man with the beer, seemed put 
out at this message. Indeed, the latter went so 
far as to say : 


4 


EUGENE LANE AND HIS GUESTS 


“ Good ! Have some beer, Eugene ? ” 

“But who is coming?” repeated Miss Kate. 
“ Really, Eugene, you might pay a little attention 
to me.” 

“ Can’t, my dear Kate — not in public. It’s not 
good form, is it, Lady Claudia? ” 

“ Eugene,” said Mrs. Lane, in a tone as nearly 
severe as she ever arrived at, “if you wish your 
guests to have either dinner or beds, you will at 
once tell me who and how many there are.” 

“ My dear mother, they are in number five, com- 
posed as follows : First, the Bishop of Bellminster.” 

“ A most interesting man,” observed Miss Cham- 
bers. 

44 I am glad to hear it, Aunt Jane,” responded 
Eugene. “ The Bishop is accompanied by his wife. 
That makes two; and then old Merton, who was 
at the Colonial Office, you know, and Morewood, 
the painter, make four.” 

“Sir George Merton is a Radical, isn’t he?” 
asked Lady Claudia severely. 

4 4 He tries to be,” said Eugene. 44 Shall I order a 
carriage to take you to the station ? I think, you 
know, you can stand it, with Haddington’s help.” 

Mr. Spencer Haddington, the other young man 
in flannels, was a very rising member of the Con- 
servative party, of which Lady Claudia conceived 
herself to be a pillar. Identity of political views, 
in Mr. Haddington’s opinion, might well pave the 
way to a closer union, and this hope accounted for 
his having consented to pair with Eugene, who sat 
on the other side, and spend the last week in idle- 
ness at Millstead. 

“ Well,” said Mr. Robert Territon, 44 it sounds 
slow, old man.” 


5 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ Candid family, the Territons,” remarked Eu- 
gene to the copper-beech. 

“ Who’s the fifth ? you’ve only told us four,” said 
Kate, who always stuck to the point. 

“ The fifth is — ” Eugene paused a moment, as 
though preparing a sensation ; “ the fifth is — Father 
Stafford.” 

Now it was a remarkable thing that all the ladies 
looked up quickly and re-echoed the name of the 
last guest in accents of awe, whereas the men 
seemed unaffected. 

“ Why, where did you pick him up ? asked Lady 
Claudia. 

“ Pick him up ! I’ve known Charley Stafford 
since we were both that high. W e were at Harrow 
and at Oxford together. Rickmansworth knows 
him, Bob. You didn’t come till he’d left.” 

“ Why is the gentleman called 6 Father ’ ? ” said 
Bob. 

“ Because he is a priest,” Miss Chambers an- 
swered. “ And really, Mr. Territon, you’re very 
ignorant. Everybody knows Father Stafford. You 
do, Mr. Haddington ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Haddington. “ I’ve heard of him. 
He’s an Anglican Father, isn’t he? Had a big 
parish somewhere down the Mile End Road.” 

“ Yes,” said Eugene. “ He’s an old and a great 
friend of mine. He’s quite knocked up, poor old 
chap, and had to get leave of absence; and I’ve 
made him promise to come and stay here for a good 
part of the time to rest.” 

“ Then he’s not going off again on Monday ? ” 
asked Mrs. Lane. 

“ Oh, I hope not. He’s writing a book or some- 
thing, that will keep him from being restless.” 

6 


EUGENE LANE AND HIS GUESTS 


“ How charming ! ” said Lady Claudia. “ Don’t 
you dote on him, Kate ? Please, Mr. Lane, may I 
stay too ? ” 

44 By the way,” said Eugene, 44 Stafford has taken 
a vow of celibacy.” 

44 I knew that,” said Lady Claudia imperturbably. 

Eugene looked mournful ; Bob Territon groaned 
tragically ; but Lady Claudia was quite unmoved, 
and, turning to the Rector, who sat smiling be- 
nevolently on the young people, asked : 

44 Do you know Father Stafford, Dr. Dennis ? ” 

44 No. I should be much interested in meeting 
him. I’ve heard so much of his work and preach- 
ing.” 

“Yes,” said Lady Claudia, 44 and his penances 
and fasting, and so on.” 

44 Poor old Stafford ! ” said Eugene. 44 It’s quite 
enough for him that a thing’s pleasant to make it 
wrong.” 

“Not your philosophy. Master Eugene! ’’said 
the Rector. 

44 No, Doctor.” 

44 But what’s this vow ? ” asked Kate. 

44 There’s no such thing as a binding vow of celi- 
bacy in the Anglican Church,” announced Miss 
Chambers. 

44 Is that right, Doctor ? ” said Lady Claudia. 

44 God bless me, my dear,” said the Rector. 44 1 
don’t know. There wasn’t in my time.” 

44 But, Eugene, surely I’m right,” persisted Aunt 
Jane. 44 His Bishop can dispense him from it, 
can’t he ? ” 

44 Don’t know,” answered Eugene. 44 He says he 
can.” 

44 Who says he can ? ” 


7 


FATHER STAFFORD 


44 Why, the Bishop ! ” 

“ Well, then, of course he can.” 

44 All right,” said Eugene ; 44 only Stafford doesn’t 
think so. Not that he wants to be released. He 
doesn’t care a bit about women — very ungratefully, 
as they’re all mad about him.” 

44 That’s very rude, Eugene,” said Kate, in re- 
proving tones. “Admiration for a saint is not 
madness. Shall we go in, Claudia, and leave these 
men to pipes and beer ? ” 

44 One for you, Rector ! ” chuckled Bob Territon, 
who knew no reverence. 

The two girls departed somewhat scornfully, 
arm in arm, and the Rector too rose with a sigh, 
and accompanied the elder ladies to the house, 
whither they were going to meet the pony carriage 
that stood at the hall door. A daily drive was 
part of Mrs. Lane’s ritual. 

44 By the way, you fellows,” Eugene resumed, 
throwing himself on the grass, 44 1 may as well 
mention that Stafford doesn’t drink, or eat meat, 
or smoke, or play cards, or anything else.” 

44 What a peculiar beggar ! ” said Bob. 

44 Yes, and he’s peculiar in another way,” said 
Eugene, a little dryly ; 44 he particularly objects to 
any remark being made on his habits — I mean 
on what he eats and drinks and so on.” 

44 There I agree,” said Bob ; 44 1 object to any 
remarks on what I eat and drink ” ; and he took a 
long pull at the beer. 

44 Y ou must treat him with respect, young man. 
Haddington, I know, will study him as a phenom- 
enon. I can’t protect him against that.” 

Mr. Haddington smiled and remarked that such 
revivals of medievalism were interesting, if morbid ; 

8 


EUGENE LANE AND HIS GUESTS 


and having so delivered himself, he too went his 
way. 

“ That chap’s considered very clever, isn’t he ? ” 
asked Bob of his host, indicating Haddington’s re- 
treating figure. 

“Very, I believe,” said Eugene. “He’s a 
cuckoo, you see.” 

“ Dashed if I do,” said Bob. 

“ He steals other birds’ nests — eggs and all.” 

“Your natural history is a trifle mixed, old fel- 
low ; kindly explain.” 

“Well, he’s a thief of ideas. Never was the 
father of one himself, and gets his living by kid- 
napping.” 

“ I never knew such a chap ! ” ejaculated Bob 
helplessly. “ Why can’t you say plainly that you 
think he’s an ass ? ” 

“ I don’t, ” said Eugene. “ He’s by no means an 
ass. He’s a very clever fellow. But he lives on 
other men’s ideas ! ” 

“ Oh ! come and play billiards.” 

“ I can’t,” said Eugene gravely. “ I’m going to 
read poetry to Kate.” 

“ By Jove, does she make you do that ? ” 

Eugene nodded sadly and Bob went off into a 
fit of obtrusive chuckling. Eugene cast a large 
cushion dexterously at him and caught him just in 
the mouth, and, still sadly, rose and went in search 
of his lady-love. 

“ Why the dickens does he marry that girl ? ” 
exclaimed Bob. “ It beats me.” 

Bob Territon was not the only person in whom 
Eugene’s engagement to Kate Bernard inspired 
some surprise. But neither he nor any one else 
succeeded in formulating very definite reasons for 
9 


FATHER STAFFORD 


the feeling. Kate was a beauty, and a beauty of a 
type undeniably orthodox and almost aristocratic. 
She was tall and slight, her nose was the least trifle 
arched, her fingers tapered, and so, it was believed, 
did her feet. Her hair was golden, her mouth was 
small, and her accomplishments considerable. 
From her childhood she had been considered 
clever, and had vindicated her reputation by gain- 
ing more than one certificate from the various ex- 
amining bodies which nowadays go up and down 
seeking whom they may devour. All these varied 
excellencies Eugene had had full opportunities of 
appreciating, for Kate was a distant cousin of his 
on the mother’s side, and had spent a large part of 
the last few years at the Manor. It was, in fact, 
so obviously the duty of the two young people to 
fall in love with one another, that the surprise ex- 
hibited by their friends could only have been based 
on a somewhat cynical view of humanity. The 
cynics ought to have considered themselves con- 
futed by the fait accompli , but they refused to do 
so, and, led by Sir Roderick Ayre, had been known 
to descend to laying five to four against the perma- 
nency of the engagement — an obviously coarse and 
improper proceeding. 

It is possible that the odds might have risen a 
point or two, had these reprehensible persons been 
present at a little scene which occurred on the ter- 
race, whither the girls had betaken themselves, and 
Eugene in his turn repaired when he had armed 
himself with Tennyson. As he approached Clau- 
dia rose to go and leave the lovers to themselves. 

“ Don’t go, Lady Claudia,” said Eugene. “ I’m 
not going to read anything you ought not to hear.” 

Of course it was the right thing for Claudia to 
10 


EUGENE LANE AND HIS GUESTS 


go, and she knew it. But she was a mischievous 
body, and the sight of a cloud on Kate’s brow had 
upon her exactly the opposite effect to what it 
ought to have had. 

“You don’t really want me to stay, do you? 
Wouldn’t you two rather be alone ? ” she asked. 

“ Much rather have you,” Eugene answered. 

Kate rose with dignity. 

“We need not discuss that,” she said. “ I have 
letters to write, and I am going indoors.” 

“ Oh, I say, Kate, don’t do that ! I came out 
on purpose to read to you.” 

“ Lady Claudia is quite ready to make an audi- 
ence for you,” was the chilling reply, as Kate van- 
ished through the open door. 

“ There, you’ve done it now ! ” said Eugene. 
“ You really ought not to insist on staying.” 

“ I’m so sorry, Mr. Lane. But it’s all your 
fault.” And Claudia tried to make her face as- 
sume a look of gravity. 

A pause ensued, and then they both smiled. 

“ What were you going to read ? ” asked Clau- 
dia. 

“ Oh, Tennyson — always read Tennyson. Kate 
likes it because she thinks it’s simple.” 

“You flatter yourself that you see the deeper 
meaning ? ” 

Eugene smiled complacently. 

“ And you mean Kate doesn’t ? I’m glad I’m 
not engaged to you, Mr. Lane, if that’s the kind 
of thing you say.” 

Eugene opened his mouth, shut it again, and 
then said blandly: 

“ So am I.” 

“ Thank you! You need not be afraid.” 

11 


FATHER STAFFORD 


44 If I were engaged to you, I mightn’t like you 
so well.” 

A slight blush became visible on Claudia’s usu- 
ally pale cheek. 

Eugene looked away toward the horizon. 

44 I like the way quite pale people blush,” he said. 

44 What do you want, Mr. Lane ? ” 

4 4 Ah! I see you appreciate my character. I 
want many things I can’t have — a great many.” 

4 4 No doubt,” said Claudia, still blushing under 
the mournful gaze which accompanied those words. 
44 Do you want anything you can have ? ” 

44 Yes ! I want you to stay several more weeks.” 

44 1 am going to stay,” said Claudia. 

44 How kind ! ” exclaimed Eugene. 

44 Do you know why ? ” 

44 My modesty forbids me to think.” 

44 1 want to see a lot of Father Stafford ! Good- 
bye, Mr. Lane. I’ll leave you to your private and 
particular understanding of Tennyson.” 

44 Claudia ! ” 

44 Hold your tongue,” she whispered, in tones of 
exasperation. 44 It’s very wicked and very imperti- 
nent — and the library door’s open, and Kate’s in 
there ! ” 

Eugene fell back in his chair with a horrified 
look, and Claudia rushed into the house. 


12 


CHAPTER II 


NEW FACES AND OLD FEUDS 

There was, no doubt, some excuse for the interest 
that the ladies of Millstead Manor had betrayed on 
hearing the name of Father Stafford. In these 
days, when the discussion of theological topics has 
emerged from the study into the street, there to 
jostle persons engaged in their lawful business, a 
man who makes for himself a position as a promi- 
nent champion of any view becomes, to a consider- 
able extent, a public character; and Charles Staf- 
ford’s career had excited much notice. Although 
still a young man but little past thirty, he was 
adored by a powerful body of followers, and re- 
ceived the even greater compliment of hearty de- 
testation from all, both within and without the 
Church, to whom his views seemed dangerous and 
pernicious. He had administered a large parish 
with distinction ; he had written a treatise of pro- 
found patristic learning and uncompromising sacer- 
dotal pretensions. He had defended the institution 
of a celibate priesthood, and was known to have 
treated the Reformation with even less respect than 
it has been of late accustomed to receive. He had 
done more than all this : he had impressed all who 
met him with a character of absolute devotion and 
disinterestedness, and there were many who thought 
that a successor to the saints might be found 
in Stafford, if anywhere in this degenerate age. 
Yet though he was, or was thought to be, all this, 
his friends were yet loud in declaring — and ever 
13 


FATHER STAFFORD 


foremost among them Eugene Lane — that a better, 
simpler, or more modest man did not exist. For 
the weakness of humanity, it may be added that 
Stafford’s appearance gave him fully the external 
aspect most suitable to the part his mind urged him 
to play; for he was tall and spare; his fine- cut face, 
clean-shaven, displayed the penetrating eyes, prom- 
inent nose, and large mobile mouth that the mem- 
ory associates with pictures of Italian prelates who 
were also statesmen. These personal characteristics, 
combined with his attitude on Church matters, 
caused him to be familiarly known among the flip- 
pant by the nickname of the pope. 

Eugene Lane stood upon his hearthrug, convers- 
ing with the Bishop of Bellminster and covertly 
regarding his betrothed out of the corner of an ap- 
prehensive eye. They had not met alone since the 
morning, and he was naturally anxious to find out 
whether that unlucky “ Claudia ” had been over- 
heard. Claudia herself was listening to the con- 
versation of Mr. Morewood, the well-known artist, 
and Stafford, who had only arrived just before din- 
ner, was still busy in answering Mrs. Lane’s ques- 
tions about his health. Sir George Merton had 
failed at the last moment, “like a Radical,” said 
Claudia. 

“ I am extremely interested in meeting your 
friend Father Stafford,” said the Bishop. 

“Well, he’s a first-rate fellow,” replied Eugene. 
“ I’m sure you’ll like him.” 

“You young fellows call him the pope, don’t 
you ? ” asked his lordship, who was a genial man. 

“Yes. You don’t mind, do you? It’s not as 
if we called him the Archbishop of Canterbury, you 
know.” 

u 


NEW FACES AND OLD FEUDS 


“ I shouldn’t consider even that very personal,” 
said the Bishop, smiling. 

Dinner was announced. Eugene gave the Bish- 
op’s wife his arm, whispering to Claudia as he 
passed, 44 Age before impudence ” ; and that young 
lady found that she had fallen to the lot of Stafford, 
whereat she was well pleased. Kate was paired 
with Haddington, and Mr. Morewood with Aunt 
Jane. The Bishop, of course, escorted the hostess. 

44 And who,” said he, almost as soon as he was 
comfortably settled to his soup, 44 is the young lady 
sitting by our friend the Father — the one, I mean, 
with dark hair, not Miss Bernard ? I know her.” 

44 That’s Lady Claudia Territon,” said Mrs. Lane. 
“Very pretty, isn’t she? and really a very good 
girl.” 

44 Do you say 4 really ’ because, unless you did, I 
shouldn’t believe it ? ” he asked, with a smile. 

Mrs. Lane had been moved by this idea, but not 
consciously and, a little distressed at suspecting her- 
self of an unkindness, entertained the Bishop with 
an entirely fanciful catalogue of Claudia’s virtues, 
which, being overheard by Bob Territon, who had 
no lady, and was at liberty to listen, occasioned him 
immense entertainment. 

Claudia, meanwhile, was drifting into a state of 
some annoyance. Stafford was very courteous and 
attentive, but he drank nothing, and apparently 
proposed to dine off dry bread. When she began 
to question him about his former parish, instead of 
showing the gratitude that might be expected, he 
smiled a smile that she found pleasure in describing 
as inscrutable, and said : 

44 Please don’t talk down to me, Lady Claudia.” 

44 1 have been taught,” responded Claudia, rather 
15 


FATHER STAFFORD 


stiffly, “ to talk about subjects in which my com- 
pany is presumably interested.” 

Stafford looked at her with some surprise. It 
must be admitted that he had become used to 
more submission than Claudia seemed inclined to 
give him. 

46 1 beg your pardon. You are quite right. Let 
us talk about it.” 

44 No, I won’t. We will talk about you. You’ve 
been very ill, Father Stafford?” 

44 A little knocked up.” 

44 1 don’t wonder!” she said, with an irritated 
glance at his plate, which was now furnished with 
a potato. 

He saw the glance. 

44 It wasn’t that,” he said ; 44 that suits me very 
well.” 

Claudia knew that a pretty girl may say most 
things, so she said : 

44 1 don’t believe it. You’re killing yourself. 
Why don’t you do as the Bishop does ? ” 

The Bishop, good man, was at this moment 
drinking champagne. 

44 Men have different ways of living,” he answered 
evasively. 

44 1 think yours is a very bad way. Why do you 
do it ? ” 

44 I’m sure you will forgive me if I decline to dis- 
cuss the question just now. I notice you take a 
little wine. You probably would not care to ex- 
plain why.” 

44 1 take it because I like it.” 

44 And I don’t take it because I like it.” 

Claudia had a feeling that she was being snubbed, 
and her impression was confirmed when Stafford, a 
16 


NEW FACES AND OLD FEUDS 


moment afterward, turned to Kate Bernard, who 
sat on his left hand, and was soon deep in reminis- 
cences of old visits to the Manor, with which Kate 
contrived to intermingle a little flattery that Staf- 
ford recognised only to ignore. They had known 
one another well in earlier days, and Kate was im- 
mensely pleased at finding her playfellow both 
famous and not forgetful. 

Eugene looked on from his seat at the foot of 
the table with silent wonder. Here was a man 
who might and indeed ought to talk to Claudia, 
and yet was devoting himself to Kate. 

“ 1 suppose it’s on the same principle that he 
takes water instead of champagne,” he thought ; 
but the situation amused him, and he darted at 
Claudia a look that conveyed to that young lady 
the urgent idea that she was, as boys say, “ dared ” 
to make Father Stafford talk to her. This was 
quite enough. Helped by the unconscious alliance 
of Haddington, who thought Miss Bernard had let 
him alone quite long enough, she seized her oppor- 
tunity, and said in the softest voice : 

“ Father Stafford ? ” 

Stafford turned his head, and found fixed upon 
him a pair of large, dark eyes, brimming over with 
mingled contrition and admiration. 

“ I am so sorry — but — but I thought you looked 
so ill.” 

Stafford was unpleasantly conscious of being 
human. The triumph of wickedness is a spectacle 
from which we may well avert our eyes. Suffice 
it to say that a quarter of an hour later Claudia re- 
turned Eugene’s glance with a look of triumph and 
scorn. 

Meanwhile, trouble had arisen between the Bishop 
19 17 


FATHER STAFFORD 


and Mr, Morewood. Morewood was an artist of 
great ability, originality, and skill; and if he had 
not attained the honors of the Academy, it was 
perhaps more his own fault than that of the ex- 
alted body in question, as he always treated it with 
an ostentatious contumely. After all, the Academy 
must be allowed its feelings. Moreover, his opin- 
ions on many subjects were known to be extreme, 
and he was not chary of displaying them. He was 
sitting on Mrs. Lane’s left, opposite the Bishop, 
and the latter had started with his hostess a dis- 
cussion of the relation between religion and art. 
All went harmoniously for a time; they agreed 
that religion had ceased to inspire art, and that it 
was a very regrettable thing ; and there, one would 
have thought, the subject — not being a new one — 
might well have been left. Suddenly, however, 
Mr. Morewood broke in : 

“ Religion has ceased to inspire art because it has 
lost its own inspiration, and having so ceased, it has 
lost its only use.” 

The Bishop was annoyed. A well-bred man 
himself, he disliked what seemed to him ill-bred 
attacks on opinions which his position proclaimed 
him to hold. 

“You cannot expect me to assent to either of 
your propositions, Mr. Morewood,” he said. “ If I 
believed them, you know, I should not be in the 
place I am.” 

“ They’re true, for all that,” retorted Morewood. 
“ And what is it to be traced to ? ” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know,” said poor Mrs. Lane. 

“ Why, to Established Churches, of course. As 
long as fancies and imaginary beings are left free 
to each man to construct or destroy as he will, — or 
18 


NEW FACES AND OLD FEUDS 


again, I may say, as long as they are fluid, — they 
subserve the pleasurableness of life. But when 
you take in hand and make a Church out of them, 
and all that, what can you expect ? ” 

44 I think you must be confusing the Church with 
the Royal Academy,” observed the Bishop, with 
some acidity. 

44 There would be plenty of excuse for me, if I 
did,” replied More wood. 44 There’s no truth and no 
zeal in either of them.” 

44 If you please, we will not discuss the truth. 
But as to the zeal, what do you say to the example 
of it among us now ? ” And the Bishop, lowering 
his voice, indicated Stafford. 

Morewood darted a glance at him. 

44 He’s mad ! ” he said briefly. 

“ I wish there were a few more with the same 
mania about.” 

44 You don’t believe all he does ? ” 

44 Perhaps I can’t see all he does,” said the 
Bishop, with a touch of sadness. 

44 How do you mean? ” 

44 1 have been longer in the cave, and perhaps I 
have peered too much through cave-spectacles.” 

Morewood looked at him for a moment. 

44 I’m sorry if I’ve been rude, Bishop,” he said 
more quietly, 44 but a man must say what he 
thinks.” 

44 Not at all times,” said the Bishop; and he 
turned pointedly to Mrs. Lane and began to dis- 
cuss indifferent matters. 

Morewood looked round with a discontented air. 
Miss Chambers was mortally angry with him and 
had turned to Bob Territon, whom she was trying 
to persuade to come to a bazaar at Bellminster on 
19 


FATHER STAFFORD 


the Monday. Rob was recalcitrant, and here too 
the atmosphere became a little disturbed. The only 
people apparently content were Kate and Hadding- 
ton and Lady Claudia and Stafford. To the rest 
it was a relief when Mrs. Lane gave the signal to 
rise. 

Matters improved, however, in the drawing-room. 
The Bishop and Stafford were soon deep in con- 
versation ; and Claudia, thus deprived of her former 
companion, condescended to be very gracious to 
Mr. Morewood, in the secret hope that that eccen- 
tric genius would make her the talk of the studios 
next summer by painting her portrait. Hadding- 
ton and Bob had vanished with cigars ; and Eu- 
gene, looking round and seeing that all was peace, 
said to himself in an access of dutifulness, “ Now 
for it ! ” and crossed over to where Kate sat, and 
invited her to accompany him into the garden. 

Kate acquiesced, but showed little other sign of 
relaxing her attitude of lofty displeasure. She left 
Eugene to begin. 

“ I’m awfully sorry, Kate, if you were vexed this 
morning.” 

Absolute silence. 

“ But, you see, as host here, I couldn’t very well 
turn out Lady Claudia.” 

“ Why don’t you say Claudia ? ” asked Kate, in 
sarcastic tones. 

Eugene felt inclined to fly, but he recognised 
that his only chance lay in pretending innocence 
when he had it not. 

46 Are we to quarrel about a trifle of that sort ? ” 
he asked ; “ a girl I have known like a sister for the 
last ten years ! ” 

Kate smiled bitterly. 


20 


NEW FACES AND OLD FEUDS 


“ Do you really suppose that deceives me ? Of 
course, I am not afraid of your falling in love with 
Claudia ; but it’s very bad taste to have anything 
at all like flirtation with her.” 

“ Quite right ; it is. It shall not occur again. 
Isn’t that enough ? ” 

Kate, in spite of her confidence, was not anxious 
to drive Eugene with too tight a rein, so, with a 
nearer approach to graciousness, she allowed it to 
appear that it was enough. 

44 Then come along,” he said, passing his arm 
around her waist, and running her briskly along 
the terrace to a seat at the end, where he deposited 
her. 

4 4 Really, Eugene, one would think you were a 
schoolboy. Suppose any one had seen us ! ” 

44 Some one did,” said Eugene composedly, light- 
ing his cigar. 

44 Who ? ” 

44 Haddington. He was sitting on the step of 
the sun-dial, smoking.” 

44 How annoying ! What’s he doing there ? ” 

44 If you ask me, I expect he’s waiting on the 
chance of Lady Claudia coming out.” 

44 1 should think it very unlikely,” said Kate, with 
an impatient tap of her foot ; 44 and I wish you 
wouldn’t do such things.” 

Eugene smiled ; and having thus, as he conceived, 
partly avenged himself, devoted the next ten min- 
utes to orthodox love-making, with the warmth of 
which Kate had no reason to be discontent. On 
the expiration of that time he pleaded his obliga- 
tions as a host, and they returned to the house, 
Kate much mollified, Eugene with the peaceful but 
fatigued air that that tells of duty done. 

21 


FATHER STAFFORD 


Before going to bed, Stafford and Eugene man- 
aged to get a few words together. Leaving the 
other men, except the Bishop, who was already at 
rest, in the billiard-room, they strolled out together 
on to the terrace. 

“ Well, old man, how are you getting on ? ” asked 
Eugene. 

“ Capitally ! stronger every day in body and hap- 
pier in mind. I grumbled a great deal when I first 
broke down, but now I’m not sure a rest isn’t good 
for me. You can stop and have a look where you 
are going to.” 

“ And you think you can stand it ? ” 

“ Stand what, my dear fellow ? ” 

“ Why, the life you lead — a life studiously emp- 
tied of everything that makes life pleasant.” 

“ Ah ! you are like Lady Claudia ! ” said Stafford, 
smiling. “ I can tell you, though, what I can hardly 
tell her. There are some men who can make no 
terms with the body. Does that sound very medi- 
aeval? I mean men who, unless they are to yield 
utterly to pleasure, must have no dealings with it.” 

“ You boycott pleasure for fear of being too fond 
of it ? ” 

“Yes; I don’t lay down that rule for everybody. 
For me it is the right and only one.” 

“You think it right for a good many people, 
though ? ” 

“ Well, you know, the many-headed beast is 
strong? ” 

“ For me ?” 

“Wait till I get at you from the pulpit.” 

“No; tell me now.” 

“ Honestly? ” 

“ Of course ; I take that for granted.” 

22 


NEW FACES AND OLD FEUDS 

“ W ell, then, old fellow,” said he, laying a hand 
on Eugene’s arm, with a slight gesture of caress not 
unusual with him, “ in candour and without unkind- 

ness, yes ! ” 

44 1 never could do it,” said Eugene. 

64 Perhaps not — at least, not yet.” 

44 Too late or too early, is it ? ” 

44 It may be so, but I will not say so.” 

44 You know r I think you’re all wrong.” 

44 1 know.” 

44 You will fail.” 

44 God forbid ; but if he pleases ” 

44 After all, what are meat, wine, and — and so on 
for? ” 

44 That argument is beneath you, Eugene.” 

44 So it is. I beg your pardon. I might as well 
ask what the hangman is for if nobody is to be 
hanged. However, I’m determined that you shall 
enjoy yourself for a week here, whether you like it 
or not ! ” 

Stafford smiled gently and bade him good night. 
A moment later Bob Territon emerged from the 
open windows of the billiard-room. 

44 Of all dull dogs, Haddington’s the worst ; how- 
ever, I’ve won five pound of him! Hist! Is the 
Father here? ” 

44 I’m glad to say he is not.” 

44 Oh! Have you squared it with Miss Kate? 
I saw something was up.” 

44 Miss Bernard’s heart, Bob, and mine again beat 
as one.” 

44 What was it particularly about ? ” 

44 An immaterial matter.” 

44 1 say, did you see the Father and Claudia ? ” 

44 No. What do you mean ? ” 

23 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ Gammon ! I tell you what, Eugene, if Claudia 
really puts her back into it, I wouldn’t give much 
for that vow of celibacy.” 

“ Bob,” said Eugene, “ you don’t know Stafford ; 
and your expression about your sister is — well, shall 
I say lacking in refinement ? ” 

“ Haddington didn’t like it.” 

“Damn Haddington, and you too! ” said Eugene 
impatiently, walking away. 

Bob looked after him with a chuckle, and ex- 
claimed enigmatically to the silent air, “ Six to four, 
t. and o.” 


24 


CHAPTER III 


FATHER STAFFORD CHANGES HIS HABITS, AND 
MR. HADDINGTON HIS VIEWS 

For sheer placid enjoyment and pleasantness of 
living, there is nothing like a sojourn in a well-ap- 
pointed country house, peopled by well-assorted 
guests. The guests at Millstead Manor were not 
perhaps particularly well assorted ; but nevertheless 
the hours passed by in a round of quiet delights, and 
the long summer days seemed in no wise tedious. 
The Bishop and Mrs. Bartlett had reluctantly gone 
to open the bazaar and Miss Chambers went with 
them, but otherwise the party was unchanged ; 
for Morewood, who had come originally only for 
two days, had begged leave to stay, received it on 
condition of showing due respect to everybody’s 
prejudices, telegraphed for his materials, and was 
fitfully busy making sketches, not of Lady Claudia, 
to her undisguised annoyance, but of Stafford, with 
whose face he had been wonderfully struck. Staf- 
ford himself was the only one of the party, besides 
his artistic tormentor, who had not abandoned him- 
self to the charms of idleness. His great work was 
understood to make rapid progress between six in 
the morning, when he always rose, and half-past 
nine, when the party assembled at breakfast ; and 
he was also busy in writing a reply to a daring per- 
son who had recently asserted in print that on the 
whole the less said about the Council of Chalcedon 
the better. 


25 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ The pope’s wild about it ! ” reported Bob Ter- 
riton to the usual after- breakfast group on the 
lawn ; “says the beggar’s impudence licks him.” 

“ He shall not work any more,” exclaimed 
Claudia, darting into the house, whence she pres- 
ently emerged, followed by Stafford, who resign- 
edly sat himself down with them. 

Such forcible interruptions of his studies were by 
no means uncommon. Eugene, however, who was 
of an observant turn, noticed — and wondered if 
others did — that the raids on his seclusion were 
much more apt to be successful when Claudia 
headed them than under other auspices. The fact 
troubled him, not only from certain unworthy feel- 
ings which he did his best to suppress, but also be- 
cause he saw nothing but harm to be possible from 
any close rapprochement between Claudia and 
Stafford. Kate, on the contrary, seemed to him 
to have set herself the task of throwing them to- 
gether ; with what motive he could not understand, 
unless it were the recollection of his ill-fated 
“ Claudia.” He did not think this explanation 
very convincing, for he was well aware that Kate’s 
scorn of Claudia’s attractions, as compared with 
her own, was perfectly genuine, and such a state of 
mind would not produce the certainly active ef- 
forts she put forth. In truth, Eugene, though 
naturally observant, was, like all men, a little blind 
where he himself was concerned: and perhaps a 
shrewd spectator would have connected Hadding- 
ton in some way with Miss Kate’s manoeuvres. 
Such, at any rate, was the view of Bob Territon, 
and no doubt he would have expressed it with his 
usual frankness if he had not had his own reasons 
for keeping silence. 


26 


STAFFORD CHANGES HIS HABITS 

Stafford’s state of mind was somewhat peculiar. 
A student from his youth, to whom invisible things 
had always seemed more real than visible, and hours 
of solitude better filled than busy days, he had had 
but little experience of that sort of humanity 
among which he found himself. A man may ad- 
minister a cure of souls with marked efficiency in 
the Mile End Road, and yet find himself much at 
a loss when confronted with the latest products of 
the West End. The renunciation of the world, 
except so far as he could aid in mending it, had 
seemed an easy and cheap price to pay for the 
guerdon he strove for, to one who had never seen 
how pleasant this wicked world can look in certain 
of its aspects. Hitherto, at school, at college, and 
afterward, he had resolutely turned away from all 
opportunities of enlarging his experience in this di- 
rection. He had shunned society, and had taken 
great pains to restrict his acquaintance with the 
many devout ladies who had sought him out to the 
barest essentials of what ought to have been, if it 
was not always, their purpose in seeking him. The 
prince of this world was now preparing a more 
subtle attack ; and under the seeming compulsion 
of common prudence no less than of old friendship, 
he found himself flung into the very centre of the 
sort of life he had with such pains avoided. It may 
be doubted whether he was not, like an unskillful 
swimmer, ignorant of his danger; but it is certain 
that, had he been able to search out his own heart 
with his former acuteness of self-judgment, he 
would have found the first germs of inclinations 
and feelings to which he had been up till now a 
stranger. He would have discovered the birth of a 
new longing for pleasure, a growing delight in the 
27 


FATHER STAFFORD 


sensuous side of things ; or rather, he would have 
become convinced that temptations of this sort, 
which had previously been in the main creatures of 
his own brain, postulated in obedience to the doc- 
trines and literature in which he had been bred, 
had become self-assertive realities ; and that what 
had been set up only to be triumphantly knocked 
down had now taken a strong root of its own, and 
refused to be displaced by spiritual exercises or 
physical mortifications. Had he been able to pur- 
sue the analysis yet further, it may be that, even in 
these days, he would have found that the forces of 
this world were already beginning to personify 
themselves for him in the attractive figure of 
Claudia Territon. As it was, however, this dis- 
covery was yet far from him. 

The function of passing a moral judgment on 
Claudia’s conduct at this juncture is one that the 
historian respectfully declines. It is easy to blame 
fair damsels for recklessness in the use of their dan- 
gerous weapons ; and if they take the censure to 
heart — which is not usually the case — easy again to 
charge them with self-consciousness or self-con- 
ceit. We do not know their temptations and may 
not presume to judge them. And it may well be 
thought that Claudia would have been guilty of an 
excessive appreciation of herself had her conduct 
been influenced by the thought that such a man as 
Stafford was likely to fall in love with her. Of the 
conscious design of attracting him she must be ac- 
quitted, for she acted under the force of a strong 
attraction exercised by him. Her mind was not 
entirely engrossed in the pleasures, and what she 
imagined to be the duties, of her station. She had 
a considerable, if untrained and erratic, instinct tow- 
28 


STAFFORD CHANGES HIS HABITS 


ard religion, and exhibited that leaning toward 
the mysterious and visionary which is the common 
mark of an acute mind that has not been presented 
with any methodical course of training worthy of 
its abilities. Such a temperament could not fail to 
be powerfully influenced by Stafford; and when 
an obvious and creditable explanation lies on the 
surface, it is an ungracious task to probe deeper in 
the hope of coming to something less praiseworthy. 
Claudia herself certainly undertook no such re- 
search. It was not her habit to analyse her mo- 
tives ; and, if asked the reasons of her conduct, she 
would no doubt have replied that she sought Staf- 
ford because she liked him. Perhaps, if further 
pressed, she would have admitted that she found 
him occasionally a useful refuge against attentions 
from two other quarters which she found it neces- 
sary to avoid ; in the one case because she would 
have liked them, in the other for exactly the op- 
posite reason. 

It cannot, however, be supposed that this latter 
line of diplomacy could be permanently successful. 
When you only meet your suitor at dances or 
operas, it may be no hard task to be always sur- 
rounded by a clievaux-de-frise of other admirers. 
We have all seen that manoeuvre brilliantly and 
patiently executed. But when you are staying in 
a country house with any man of average perti- 
nacity, I make bold to say that nothing short of 
taking to bed can be permanently relied upon. If 
this is the case with the ordinary man, how much 
more does it hold good when the assailant is one 
like Haddington — a man of considerable address, 
unbounded persistence, and limitless complacency? 
There came a time when Claudia’s forced marches 
29 


FATHER STAFFORD 


failed her, and she had to turn and give battle. 
When the moment came she was prepared with an 
audacious plan of campaign. 

She had walked down to the village one morning, 
attended by Haddington and protected by Bob, to 
buy for Mrs. Lane a fresh supply of worsted wool, 
a commodity apparently necessary to sustain that 
lady’s life, and was returning at peace, when Bob 
suddenly exclaimed : 

44 By Jove ! Tobacco ! Wait for me ! ” and, 
turning, fled back whence he came, at full speed. 

Claudia made an attempt at following him, but 
the weather was hot and the road dusty, and, con- 
fronted with the alternative of a tete-a-tete and a 
damaged personal appearance, she reluctantly chose 
the former. 

Haddington did not let the grass grow under his 
feet. 44 Well,” he said, 44 it won’t be unpleasant to 
rest a little while, will it ? Here’s a dry bank.” 

Claudia never wasted time in dodging the in- 
evitable. She sat down. 

44 1 am very glad of this opportunity,” Hadding- 
ton began, in such a tone as a man might use if he 
had just succeeded in moving the adjournment. 
44 It’s curious how little I have managed to see of 
you lately, Lady Claudia.” 

44 We meet at least five times a day, Mr. Had- 
dington — breakfast, lunch, tea ” 

44 1 mean when you are alone.” 

44 Oh!” 

44 And yet you must know my great — my only 
object in being here is to see you.” 

44 The less I say the sooner it will be over,” 
thought Claudia, whose experience was consider- 
able. 


30 


STAFFORD CHANGES HIS HABITS 


“You must have noticed my — my attachment. 
I hope it was without displeasure ? ” 

This clearly called for an answer, but Claudia 
gave none. She sighed slightly and put up her 
parasol. 

“ Claudia, is there any hope for me? I love vou 
more ” 

44 Mr. Haddington,” said Claudia, “this is a pain- 
ful scene. I trust nothing in my conduct has mis- 
led you. [This was known — how, I do not know 
— to her brothers as 4 4 Claudia’s formula,” but it is 
believed not to be uncommon.] But what you 
propose is utterly impossible.” 

44 Why do you say that? Perhaps you do not 
know me well enough yet — but in time, surely ? ” 

44 Mr. Haddington,” said Claudia, “let me speak 
plainly. Even if I loved you — which I don’t and 
never shall, for immense admiration for a man’s 
abilities is a different thing from love [Haddington 
looked somewhat soothed], I could never consent 
to accept the position of a pis-aller . That is not 
the Territon way.” And Lady Claudia looked very 
proud. 

44 A pis-aller! What in the world do you mean? ” 

44 Girls are not supposed to see anything. But 
do you think I imagine you would ever have hon- 
oured me in this way unless a greater prize had 
been — had appeared to be out of reach ? ” 

This was not fair ; but it was near enough to the 
mark to make Haddington a little uneasy. Had 
Kate been free, he would certainly have been in 
doubt. 

44 1 bear no malice about that,” she continued, 
smiling, 44 only you mustn’t pretend to be broken- 
hearted, you know.” 


31 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ It is a great blow to me — a great blow.” 

Claudia looked as if she would like to say 
“ Fudge ! ” but restrained herself, and, with the 
daring characteristic of her, placed her hand on his 
arm. 

“ I am so sorry, Mr. Haddington. How it must 
gall you to see their happiness ! I can understand 
you turning to me as if in self-protection. But 
you should not ask a lady to marry you because 
you’re piqued with another lady. It isn’t kind; it 
isn’t, indeed.” 

Haddington was a little at a loss. 

“ Indeed, you’re wholly wrong, Lady Claudia. 
Indeed, if you come to that, I don’t see that they 
are particularly rapturous.” 

“ You don’t mean you think they’re unhappy? 
Mr. Haddington, I am so grieved ! ” 

“Do you mean to say you don’t agree with 
me? ” 

“You mustn’t ask me. But oh! I’m so sorry 
you think so too. Isn’t it strange? So suited to 
one another — she so beautiful, he so clever, and 
both rich ! ” 

“ Miss Bernard is hardly rich, is she ? ” 

“ Not as Mr. Lane is, of course. She seems rich 
to me — forty thousand pounds, I think. Ah, Mr. 
Haddington, if only you had met her sooner ! ” 

“ I shouldn’t have had much chance against 
Lane.” 

“ Why do you say that ? If you only knew ” 

« What?” 

“ I mustn’t tell you. How sad that it’s too 
late ! ” 

“Is it?” 

“ Of course. They’re engaged! ” 

32 


STAFFORD CHANGES HIS HABITS 


“ An engagement isn’t a marriage. If I 
thought ” 

“ Yes ? ” 

“But I can’t think of that now. Good-bye, 
Claudia. We may not meet again.” 

“ Oh, you won’t go away? You mustn’t let me 
drive you away. Oh, please, Mr. Haddington! 
Think, if you go, it must all come out ! I should 
be so very, very distressed.” 

“ If you ask me, I will try to stay.” 

“ Yes, yes, stay — but forget all this. And never 
think again of the other — about them, I mean. 
You will stay?” 

“Yes, I will stay,” said Haddington. 

“ Unless it makes you too unhappy to see Eu- 
gene’s triumph in Kate’s love?” 

“ 1 don’t believe much in that. If that’s the only 
thing — but I must go. I see your brother coming 
up the hill.” 

“Yes, go; and I’ll never tell that you tried me 
as — as a second string ! ” 

“That’s very unjust,” he protested, but more 
weakly. 

“ No, it isn’t ; I know your heart, and I do pity 

you." 

“ Perhaps I shall not ask for pity, Lady Claudia ! ” 

“ Oh, you mustn’t think of that ! ” 

“ It was you who put it in my head.” 

“ Oh, what have I done ? ” 

Haddington smiled, and with a last squeeze of 
her hand turned and walked away. 

Claudia put her handkerchief into her pocket 
and went to meet her brother. 

Haddington returned alone to the house. Al- 
though suffering under a natural feeling of annoy- 
20 33 


FATHER STAFFORD 


ance at discovering that he was not foremost in 
Claudia’s heart, as he had led himself to suppose, 
he was yet keenly alive to the fact that the inter- 
view had its consolatory aspect. In the first place, 
there is a fiction that a lady who respects herself 
does not fall in love with a man whom she suspects 
to be in love with somebody else ; and Hadding- 
ton’s mind, though of no mean order in some ways, 
was not of a sort to rise above fictions. He com- 
forted his vanity with the thought that Claudia 
had, by a conscious effort, checked a nascent affec- 
tion for him, which, if allowed unimpeded growth, 
would have developed into a passion. Again, that 
astute young lady had very accurately conjectured 
his state of mind, while her pledge of secrecy dis- 
posed of the difficulty in the way of a too rapid 
transfer of his attentions. If Claudia did not com- 
plain, nay, counselled such action, who had a right 
to object ? It was true she had eagerly disclaimed 
any intention of inciting him to try to break the 
ties that now bound Miss Bernard. But, he re- 
flected, the important point was not the view she 
took of the morality of such an attempt, on which 
her authority was nought, but her opinion of its 
chances of success, which was obviously not wholly 
unfavourable. He did not trouble himself to inquire 
closely into any personal motive she may have had. 
It was enough for him that she, a person likely to 
be well informed, had allowed him to see that, to 
her thinking, the relations between the engaged 
pair were of a character to inspire in the mind of 
another aspirant hope rather than despair. 

Having reached this conclusion, Haddington rec- 
ognised that his first step must be to put Miss 
Bernard in touch with the position of affairs. It 
34 


STAFFORD CHANGES HIS HABITS 


may seem a delicate matter to hint to your host’s 
fiancee that if she, on mature reflection, likes you 
better than him, there is still time ; but Haddington 
was not afflicted with delicacy. After all, in such 
a case a great deal depends upon the lady, and 
Haddington, though doubtful how Kate would 
regard a direct proposal to break off her engage- 
ment, was yet tolerably confident that she would 
not betray him to Eugene. 

He found her seated on the terrace that was the 
usual haunt of the ladies in the forenoon and the 
scene of Eugene’s dutiful labors as reader-aloud. 
Kate was not looking amiable ; and scarce six feet 
from her there lay open on the ground a copy of 
the Laureate’s works. 

“ I hope I’m not disturbing you, Miss Bernard? ” 

“ Oh, no. You see, I am alone. Mr. Lane was 
here just now, but he’s gone.” 

“ How’s that ? ” asked Haddington, seating him- 
self. 

“He got a telegram, read it, flung his book 
away, and rushed off.” 

“ Did he say what it was about ? ” 

“ No; I didn’t ask him.” 

A pause ensued. It was a little difficult to make 
a start. 

“ And so you are alone? ” 

“ Yes, as you see.” 

“ I am alone too. Shall we console one an- 
other?” 

“ I don’t want consolation, thanks,” said Kate, a 
little ungraciously. “ But,” she added more kindly, 
“ you know I’m always glad of your company.” 

“ I wish I could think so.” 

“ Why don’t you think so ? ” 

35 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“Well, Miss Bernard, engaged people are gener- 
ally rather indifferent to the rest of the world. 

“ Even to telegrams ? ” 

“ Ah ! poor Lane ! ” 

“ I don’t think Mr. Lane is in much need of 
pity.” 

“ No — rather of envy.” 

Kate did not look displeased. 

“Still a man is to be pitied if he does not ap- 
preciate ” 

“ Mr. Haddington ! ” 

“ I beg your pardon. I ought not to have said 
that. But it is hard — there, I’m offending you 
again ! ” 

“ Yes, you must not talk like that. It’s wrong; 
it would be wrong even if you meant it.” 

“ Do you think I don’t mean it ? ” 

“ That would be very discreditable — but not so 
bad.” 

“ You know I mean it,” he said in a low voice. 
“ God knows I would have said nothing if ” 

“ If what ? ” 

“ I shall offend you more than ever. But how 
can I stand by and see that?” and Haddington 
pointed with fine scorn to the neglected book. 

Kate was not agitated. She seldom was. In a 
tone of grave rebuke, she said ; 

“ You must never speak like this again. I 
thought I saw something of it. [“ Good ! ” 
thought Haddington.] But whatever may be my 
lot, I am now bound to it. Pledges are not to be 
broken.” 

“ Are they not being virtually broken ? ” he 
asked, growing bolder as he saw she listened to 
him. 


36 


STAFFORD CHANGES HIS HABITS 


Kate rose. 

“ You are not angry ? ” 

“ I cannot be angry if it is as you say. But 
please understand I cannot listen. It is not hon- 
ourable. No — don’t say anything else. But you 
must go away.” 

Haddington made no further effort to stop her. 
He was well content. When a lady hears you 
hint that her betrothed is less devoted than you 
would be in his place, and merely says the giving 
of such a hint is wrong, it may be taken that her 
sole objection to it is on the score of morality ; and 
it is to be feared that objections based on this 
ground are not the most efficacious in checking 
forward lovers. Perhaps Miss Bernard thought 
they were. Haddington didn’t believe she did. 

“ Go away ? ” he said to himself. “ Hardly ! 
The play is just beginning. Little Lady Claudia 
wasn’t far out.” 

It is very possible she was not far out in her esti- 
mation of Mr. Haddington’s character, as well as in 
her forecast of his prospects. But the fruits of her 
shrewdness on this point were happily hid from the 
gentleman concerned. 


37 


CHAPTER IV 


SIR RODERICK AYRE INSPECTS MR. MOREWOOD’s 
MASTERPIECE 

About a fortnight later than the last recorded in- 
cident two men were smoking on the lawn at Mill- 
stead Manor. One was Morewood; the other had 
arrived only the day before and was the Sir Rod- 
erick Ayre to whom reference has been made. 

“ Upon my word, Morewood,” said Sir Roderick, 
as the painter sat down by him, “ one can’t go any- 
where without meeting you ! ” 

“ That’s since you took to intellectual company,” 
said Morewood, grinning. 

“ I haven’t taken to intellectual company,” said 
Sir Roderick, with languid indignation. “ In the 
general upheaval, intellectual company has risen in 
the scale.” 

“And so has at last come up to your pin- 
nacle ? 

“ And so has reached me, where I have been for 
centuries.” 

“ A sort of perpetual dove on Ararat ? ” 

“ My dear Morewood, I am told you know 
everything except the Bible. Why choose your 
allusions from the one unfamiliar source ? ” 

“ And how do you like your new neighbour ? ” 

“ What new neighbour ? ” 

“ Intellect.” 

“ Oh ! well, as personified in you it’s a not un- 
38 


MR MOREWOOD’S MASTERPIECE 

wholesome astringent. But we may take an over- 
dose.” 

“Depends on the capacity of the constitution, 
of course,” said Morewood. 

“ One objectionable quality it has,” pursued Sir 
Roderick, apparently unheedful. 

“Yes?” 

“ A disposition toward what boys call ‘ scoring.’ 
That will, no doubt, be eradicated as it rises more 
in society. Apropos , what are you doing down 
here ? ” 

“ As an artist, I study your insolence profession- 
ally, Ayre, and it doesn’t annoy me. I came down 
here to do nothing. I have stayed to paint Staf- 
ford.” 

“ Ah ! is Stafford then a professional saint ? ” 

“ He’s an uncommon fine fellow. You’re not fit 
to black his boots.” 

“I’m not fit to black anybody’s boots,” responded 
Sir Roderick. “ It’s the other way. What’s he 
doing down here ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Says he’s writing a book. Do 
you know Lady Claudia well ? ” 

“ Yes. Known her since she was a child.” 

“ She seems uncommonly appreciative.” 

“ Of Stafford?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh, well ! it’s her way. It always has been the 
way of the Territons. They only began, you 
know, about three hundred years ago, and ever 
since ” 

“ Oh, I don’t want their history — a lot of scoun- 
drels, no doubt, like all your old families. Only — 
I say, Ayre, I should like to show you a head of 
Stafford I’ve done.” 


39 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ I won’t buy it,” said Sir Roderick, with affected 
trepidation. 

“You be damned!” said Morewood. “But I 
should like to hear what you think of it.” 

“ What do he and the rest of them think ? ” 

“ I haven’t shown it to any one.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ Wait till you’ve seen it.” 

“ I should think Stafford would make rather a 
good head. He’s got just that — — ” 

“ Hush ! Here he comes ! ” 

As he spoke, Stafford and Claudia came up the 
drive and emerged on the lawn. They did not see 
the others and appeared to be deep in conversation. 
Stafford was talking vehemently and Claudia listen- 
ing with a look of amused mutiny on her face. 

“ He has sworn off, hasn’t he ? ” asked Ayre. 

“ Yes.” 

“ She doesn’t care for him ? ” 

“ I don’t think so ; but a man can’t tell.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” said Ayre. “ What’s Eugene up 
to?” 

“ Oh, you know he’s booked.” 

“ Kate Bernard ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Tell you what, Morewood, I’ll lay you ” 

“No, you won’t. Come and see the picture. 
It’s the finest thing — in its way — I ever did.” 

“ Going to exhibit it ? ” 

“ I’m going to work up and exhibit another I’ve 
done of him, not this one ; at least, I’m afraid he 
won’t stand this one.” 

“ Gad ! Have you painted him with horns and 
a tail?” 

Whereto Morewood answered only : 

40 


MR. MOREWOOD’S MASTERPIECE 


“ Come and see.” 

As they went in, they met Eugene, hands in 
pockets and pipe in mouth, looking immensely 
bored. 

“ Dr. Livingstone, I presume ? ” said he. “ Ex- 
cuse the mode of address, but I’ve not seen a soul 
all the morning, and thought I must have dropped 
down somewhere in Africa. It’s monstrous ! I 
ask about ten people to my house, and I never have 
a soul to speak to ! ” 

“Where’s Miss Bernard?” asked Ayre. 

“ Kate is learning constitutional principles from 
Haddington in the shrubbery. Lady Claudia is 
learning sacerdotal principles from Stafford in the 
shrubbery. My mother is learning equine princi- 
ples from Bob Territon in the stables. You are 
learning immoral principles from Morewood on the 
lawn. I don’t complain, but is there anything a 
man can do ? ” 

“Yes, there’s a picture to be seen — More wood’s 
latest.” 

“ Good!” 

“ I don’t know that I shall show it to Lane.” 

“ Oh, get out ! ” said Eugene. “ I shall summon 
the servants to my aid. Who’s it of? ” 

“ Stafford,” said Ayre. 

“ The pope in full canonicals ? ” 

“All right, Lane. But you’re a friend of his, 
and you mayn’t like it.” 

They entered the billiard-room, a long building 
that ran out from the west wing of the house. In 
the extreme end of it Morewood had extemporised 
a studio, attracted by the good light. 

“ Give me a good top-light,” he had said, “ and 
I wouldn’t change places with an archangel ! ” 

41 


FATHER STAFFORD 

“Your lights, top or otherwise, are not such,” 
Eugene remarked, “ as to make it likely the berth 
will be offered you.” 

“ This picture is, I understand, Eugene, a stun- 
ner. Give us chairs and some brandy and soda and 
trot it out,” said Ayre. 

Morewood was unmoved by their frivolity. He 
tugged at his ragged red beard for a moment or 
two while they were settling themselves. 

“ I’ll show you this first,” he said, taking up one 
of the canvases that leant against the wall. 

It was a beautiful sketch of a half-length figure, 
and represented Stafford in the garb of a monk, 
gazing up with eager eyes, full of the vision of the 
Eternal City beyond the skies. It was the face of 
a devotee and a visionary, and yet it was full of 
strength and resolution; and there was in it the 
look of a man who had put aside all except the ser- 
vice and the contemplation of the Divine. 

Ayre forgot to sneer, and Eugene murmured : 

“ Glorious ! What a subject ! And, old fellow, 
what an artist ! ” 

“That is good,” said Morewood quietly. “It’s 
fine, but as a matter of painting the other is still 
better. I caught him looking like that one morn- 
ing. He came out before breakfast, very early, 
into the garden. I was out there, but he didn’t 
see me, and he stood looking up like that for ever 
so long, his lips just parted and his eyes straining 
through the veil, as you see that. It may be all 
nonsense, but — fine, isn’t it ? ” 

The two men nodded. 

“ Now for the other,” said Ayre. “ By Jove ! I 
feel as if I’d been in church.” 

4 ‘The other I got only three or four days ago. 

42 


MR. MOREWOODS MASTERPIECE 


Again I was a Paul Pry, — we have to be, you 
know, if were to do anything worth doing, — and I 
took him as he sat. But I dare say you’d better 
see it first.” 

He took another and smaller picture and placed 
it on the easel, standing for a moment between it 
and the onlookers and studying it closely. Then 
he stepped aside in silence. 

It was merely a head — nothing more — standing 
out boldly from a dark background. The face 
was again Stafford’s, but the presentment differed 
strangely. It was still beautiful ; it had even a 
beauty the other had not, the beauty of youth and 
passion. The devotee was gone ; in his place was 
a face that, in spite of the ascetic cast of feature, 
was so lighted up with the fire of love and longing 
that it might have stood for a Leander or a Romeo. 
It expressed an eager yearning, that made it seem 
to be craning out of the picture in the effort to 
reach that unknown object on which the eyes were 
fixed with such devouring passion. 

The men sat looking at it in amazement. Eu- 
gene was half angry, half alarmed. Ayre was 
closely studying the picture, his old look of cynical 
amusement struggling with a surprise which it was 
against his profession to admit. They forgot to 
praise the picture; but Morewood was well con- 
tent with their tacit homage. 

“ The finest thing I ever did — on my life ; one 
of the finest things any one ever did,” he mur- 
mured; “ and I can’t show it ! ” 

“No,” said Eugene. 

Ayre rose and took his stand before the picture. 
Then he got a chair, choosing the lowest he could 
find, and sat down, sitting well back. This atti- 
43 


FATHER STAFFORD 

tude brought him exactly under the gaze of the 
eyes. 

“Is it your diabolical fancy,” he said, “or did 
you honestly copy it ? ” 

“ I never stuck closer to what I saw,” the painter 
replied. “ It’s not my doing; he looked like that.” 

“ Then who was sitting, as it were, where I am 
now ? ” 

“ Yes,” said More wood. “ I thought you could- 
n’t miss it.” 

“ Who was it ? ” asked Eugene, in an excited 
way. 

The others looked keenly at him for a moment. 

“You know,” said Morewood. “Claudia Ter- 
riton. She was sitting there reading. He had a 
book, too, but had laid it down on his knee. She 
sat reading, and he looking. In a moment I had 
caught the look. Then she put down the book; 
and as she turned to him to speak, in a second it 
was gone, and he was not this picture nor the other, 
but as we know him every day.” 

“ She didn’t see ? ’ ’ asked Eugene. 

“No.” 

“ Thank God ! ” he cried. Then in a moment, 
recollecting himself, he looked at the two men, and 
saw what he had done. They tried to look as if 
they noticed nothing. 

“You must destroy that thing, Morewood,” said 
he. 

Morewood’s face was a study. 

“ I would as soon,” he said deliberately, “ cut off 
my right hand.” 

“ I’ll give you a thousand pounds for it,” said 
Eugene. 

“ What would you do with it ? ” 

44 


MR. MOREWOOD’S MASTERPIECE 


44 Burn it.” 

“ Then you shouldn’t have it for ten thousand.” 

“ I thought you’d say that. But he mustn’t see 
it.” 

“ Why, Lane, you’re as bad as a child. It’s a 
man in love, that’s all.” 

46 If he saw it,” said Eugene, 44 he’d hang himself.” 

44 Oh, gently!” said Ayre. 44 If you ask me, I 
expect Stafford will pretty soon get beyond any 
surprise at the revelation. He must walk his path, 
like all of us. It can’t matter to you, you know,” 
he added, with a sharp glance. 

44 No, it can’t matter to me,” said Eugene stead- 
% • 

44 Put it away, Morewood, and come out of 
doors. Perhaps you’d better not leave it about, at 
present at any rate.” 

Morewood took down the picture and placed it 
in a large portfolio, which he locked, and accom- 
panied Ayre. Eugene made no motion to come 
with them, and they left him sitting there. 

44 The atmosphere,” said Sir Roderick, looking 
up into the clear summer sky, 44 is getting thun- 
dery and complicated. I hate complications ! 
They’re a bore ! I think I shall go.” 

44 1 shan’t. It will be interesting.” 

44 Perhaps you’re right. I’ll stay a little while.” 

44 Ah ! here you are. I’ve been looking for some- 
body to amuse me. ” 

The speaker was Claudia, looking very fresh and 
cool in her soft white dress. 

44 What have you done with the pope ? ” asked 
Ayre. 

44 He gave me to understand he had wasted 
enough time on me, and went in to write.” 

45 


FATHER STAFFORD 


44 I should think he was right,” said Sir Roderick. 

44 I dare say,” said Claudia carelessly. 

Her conscience was evidently quite at ease ; but 
they did not know whether this meant that her 
actions had deserved no blame. However, they 
were neither of them men to judge such a case as 
hers harshly. 

44 If I were fifteen years younger,” said Ayre, 44 I 
would waste all my time on you.” 

“Why, you’re only about forty,” said Claudia. 
44 That’s not too old.” 

“Good!” said he, smiling. 44 Life in the old 
dog yet, eh ? But go in and see Lane. He’s in 
the billiard-room thinking over his sins and get- 
ting low-spirited.” 

44 And I shall be a change ? ” 

44 1 don’t know about that. Perhaps he’s a ho- 
moeopathist.” 

44 1 hate you ! ” said Claudia, with a very kind 
glance, as she pursued her way in the direction 
indicated. 

44 She means no harm,” said Morewood. 

44 But she may do the devil of a lot. We can’t 
help it, can we ? ” 

44 No — not our business if we could,” said More- 
wood. 

Claudia paused for a moment at the door. Eu- 
gene was still sitting with his head on his hand. 

44 It’s very odd,” thought she. 44 What’s he 
looking at the easel for ? There’s nothing on it ! ” 

Then she began to sing. Eugene looked up. 

44 Is it you, Lady Claudia? ” 

44 Yes. Why are you moping here ? ” 

44 Where’s Stafford? ” 

44 Everybody,” said Claudia impatiently, throw- 
46 


MR. MORE WOODS MASTERPIECE 


in g her hat, and herself after it, on a lounge, 44 asks 
me where Father Stafford is. I don’t know, Mr. 
Lane ; and what’s more, at this moment I don’t 
care. Have you nothing better than that to say 
to me when I come to look for you ? ” 

Eugene pulled himself together. Tragedy airs 
would be insufferable. 

44 True, most beauteous damsel ! ” he said. 44 1 
am remiss. For the purposes of the moment, hang 
Stafford ! What shall we do ? ” 

She got up and came close to him. 

44 Mr. Lane,” she whispered, 44 what do you think 
there is in the stable ? ” 

44 1 know what there isn’t ; that’s a horse fit to 
ride.” 

44 A libel ! a libel ! But there is [in a still lower 
whisper] a sociable .” 

44 A what ? ” 

44 A sociable.” 

44 Do you mean a tricycle ? ” 

44 Yes — for two.” 

44 Oho ! ” said Eugene, gently chuckling. 

44 Wouldn’t it be fun ? ” 

44 On the road ? ” 

44 N — no, perhaps not; round the park.” 

44 Hush ! S’death ! if Kate saw us ! Where is 
she? ” 

44 1 saw her last with Mr. Haddington.” „ 

44 In the scheme of creation everything has its 
use,” replied Eugene tranquilly. 44 Haddington 
supplies a felt want.” 

44 Be quiet. But will you? ” 

44 Yes ; come along. Be swift and silent.” 

44 1 must go and put on an old frock,” 

44 All right ; be quick.” 

47 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ What is the use ? ” Eugene pondered ; “ I can’t 
have her, and Stafford may as well — if he will. 
Will he, I wonder? And would she? Oh, Lord! 
what a nuisance they are ! By Jove ! I should like 
to see Kate’s face if she spots us.” 

A few minutes later the strange and unedifying 
sight of Lady Claudia Territon and Mr. Lane, 
mounted on a very rickety old “ sociable,” pre- 
sented itself to the gaping gaze of several labourers 
in the park. Claudia was in her most boisterous 
spirits ; Eugene, by one of the quick transitions of 
his nature, was hardly less elate. Up-hill they 
toiled and down-hill they raced, getting, as the 
manner of “ cyclists ” is, very warm and rather 
oily. But retribution lagged not. Down a steep 
hill they came, round a sharp turn they went, and, 
alas, over into a ditch they fell. This was bad 
enough, but in the calm seclusion of a garden seat, 
perched on a knoll just above them, the sinners, as 
they rose, dirty but unhurt, beheld Miss Bernard ! 
For a moment all was consternation. What would 
she say? 

It was a curious thing, but Kate seemed as 
embarrassed as themselves, and she said nothing 
except : 

“ Oh, I hope you’re not hurt ! ” and said this in 
a hasty way and with ostentatious amiability. 

Eugene was surprised. But as his eyes wan- 
dered, they fell on Haddington, and that rising 
politician held awkwardly in his hand, and was 
trying to convey behind his back, what looked very 
like a lady’s glove. Now Miss Bernard had only 
one glove on. 

“The battery is spiked,” he whispered trium- 
phantly. “ Come along, Lady Claudia.” 

48 


MR. MOREWOOD’S MASTERPIECE 

Claudia hadn’t seen what Eugene had, but she 
obeyed, and off they went again, airily waving 
their hands. 

“What’s the matter with her?” she asked. 
Eugene was struggling with laughter. 

“ Didn’t you see ? Haddington had her glove ! 
Splendid!” 

Claudia, regardless of safety, turned for an 
instant a flushed, smiling face to him. He was 
about to speak, but she turned away again, ex- 
claiming : 

“ Quick ! I’ve promised to meet Father Staf- 
ford at twelve, and I mustn’t keep him waiting. I 
wouldn’t miss it for the world ! ” 

Eugene was checked; Claudia saw it. What 
she thought is not revealed, but they returned 
home in somewhat gloomy silence. And it is a 
comfort to the narrator, and it is to be hoped to 
the reader, to think that Mr. Eugene Lane got 
something besides pleasure out of his discreditable 
performance and his lamentable want of proper 
feeling. 


21 


49 


CHAPTER V 


HOW THREE GENTLEMEN ACTED FOR THE BEST 

The schemers schemed and the waiters upon 
events waited with considerable patience, but al- 
though the days wore on, the situation showed 
little signs of speedy development. Matters were 
in fact in a rather puzzling position. The friend- 
ship and intimacy between Claudia and Stafford 
continued to increase. Eugene, whether in peni- 
tence or in pique, had turned with renewed zeal to 
his proper duties, and was no longer content to 
allow Kate to be monopolised by Haddington. 
The latter’s attentions had indeed been in danger 
of becoming too marked, and it is, perhaps, not 
uncharitable to attribute Kate’s apparent avoid- 
ance of them as much to considerations of expedi- 
ency as of principle. At the same time, there was 
no coolness between Eugene and Haddington, and 
when his guest presented a valid excuse and pro- 
posed departure, Eugene met the suggestion with 
an obviously sincere opposition. Sir Roderick 
really could not make out what was going on. 
Now Sir Roderick disliked being puzzled ; it con- 
veyed a reflection on his acuteness, and he there- 
fore was a sharer in the perturbation of mind that 
evidently afflicted some of his companions, in spite 
of their decorous behaviour. But contentment 
was not wanting in some hearts. Morewood was 
happy in the pursuit of his art and in arguments 
with Stafford ; and Bob Territon had found refuge 
50 


HOW THREE GENTLEMEN ACTED 


in an energetic attempt to organise and train a 
Manor team to do battle with the village cricket 
club, headed as it had been for thirty years past 
by the Rector. Moreover, Stafford himself still 
seemed tranquil. It would have been difficult for 
most men to fail to understand their true position 
in such a case more fully than he, in spite of his 
usual penetration of vision, had succeeded in doing. 
But he was now in a strange country, and the 
landmarks of feeling whereby the experienced 
traveller on such paths can learn and note, even if 
he cannot check, his descent, were to Stafford 
unmeaning and empty of warning. Of course, he 
knew he liked Claudia’s society ; he found her talk 
at once a change, a rest, and a stimulus ; he had 
even become aware that of all the people at the 
Manor, except his old friend and host, she had for 
him the most interest and attraction ; perhaps he 
had even suffered at times that sense of vacancy 
of all the chairs when her chair was vacant that 
should have told him of his state if anything 
would. But he did not see ; he was blind in this 
matter, even as, say, Ayre or Morewood would 
have proved blind if called upon to study and 
describe the mental process of a religious conver- 
sion. He was yet far from realising that an influ- 
ence had entered his life in force strong enough to 
contend with that which had so long ruled him 
with undivided sway. It was the part of a friend 
to hope and try that he might go with his own 
heart yet a secret to him. So hoped Eugene. 
But Eugene, unnerved by self-suspicion, would 
not lift a finger to hasten his friend’s departure, 
lest he should seem to himself, or be without per- 
ceiving it even himself, alert to save his friend, only 


FATHER STAFFORD 

because his friend’s salvation would be to his own 
comfort. 

Sir Roderick Ayre, however, was not restrained by 
Eugene’s scruples nor inspired by Eugene’s devotion 
to Stafford. Stafford interested him, but he was 
not his friend, and Ayre did not understand, or, if 
truth be told, appreciate the almost reverential atti- 
tude which Eugene, usually so very devoid of rev- 
erence, adopted toward him. Ayre thought Staf- 
ford’s vow nonsense, and that if he was in love with 
Claudia Territon there was no harm done. 

“ Many people have been,” he said, “ and many 
will be, before the little witch grows old and — no, 
by Jove ! she’ll never grow ugly ! ” 

Trivial as the matter seemed, looked at in this 
light, it had yet enough of human interest about it 
to decide him to leave the grouse alone, and wait 
patiently for the partridges at Millstead. After 
all, he had shot grouse and most other things for 
thirty years ; and, as he said, “ The parson was a 
change, and the house deuced comfortable, and old 
Eugene a good fellow.” 

Now it came to pass one day that the devil, hav- 
ing a spare hour on his hands, and remembering 
that he had often met with a hospitable reception 
from Sir Roderick, to say nothing of having a 
bowing acquaintance with More wood, looked in 
at the Manor, and finding his old quarters at Sir 
Roderick’s swept and garnished, incontinently took 
up his abode there, and proceeded to look round for 
some suitable occupation. When this momentous 
but invisible event accomplished itself, Sir Rod- 
erick was outwardly engaged in the innocent and 
aimless pursuit of knocking the billiard balls about 
and listening absently to a discourse from More- 
52 


HOW THREE GENTLEMEN ACTED 


wood on the essential truths which he (Morewood) 
had grasped and presented alone of modern artists. 
The theme was not exhilarating, and Sir Roder- 
ick’s tenant soon grew very tired of it ; the pre- 
sentment of truth, indeed, essential or otherwise, 
not being a matter that concerned him. But in 
the course of an inspection of Sir Roderick’s con- 
sciousness, he had come across something that ap- 
peared worth following up, and toward it he pro- 
ceeded to direct his entertainer’s conversation. 

44 I say, Morewood,” said Ayre, breaking in on 
the discourse, 44 do you think it’s fair to keep that 
fellow Stafford in the dark ? ” 

44 Is he in the dark ? ” 

44 It’s a queer thing, but he is. I never knew a 
man who was in love before without knowing it, — 
they say women are that way, — but then I never 
met a 4 Father ’ before.” 

44 What do you propose, since you insist on gos- 
siping ? ” 

44 It isn’t gossip ; it’s Christian feeling. Some 
one ought to tell the poor beggar.” 

44 Perhaps you’d like to.” 

44 1 should, but it would seem like a liberty, and 
I never take liberties. You do constantly, so you 
might as well take this one.” 

44 1 like that ! Why, the man’s a stranger ! If 
he ought to be told at all, Lane’s the man to do it.” 

44 Yes, but you see, Lane ” 

44 That’s quite true ; I forgot. But isn’t he better 
left alone to get over it ? ” 

Sir Roderick, unprejudiced, might have con- 
ceded the point. But the prompter intervened. 

44 What I’m thinking about is this : is it fair to 
her ? I don’t say she’s in love with him, but she 
53 


FATHER STAFFORD 


admires him immensely. They’re always together, 
and — well, it’s plain what’s likely enough to hap- 
pen. If it does, what will be said ? Who’ll believe 
he did it unconsciously? And if he breaks her 
heart, how is it better because he did it uncon- 
sciously ? ” 

“You are unusually benevolent,” said More- 
wood drily. 

“ Hang it ! a man has some feelings.” 

“ You’re a humbug, Ayre ! ” 

e< Never mind what I am. You won’t tell him ? ” 

“No.” 

“ It would be a very interesting problem.” 

“ It would.” 

“ That vow of his is all nonsense, ain’t it ? ” 

“ Utter nonsense!” 

“ Why shouldn’t he have his chance of being 
happy in a reasonable way? I shouldn’t wonder 
if she took him.” 

“No more should I.” 

“ Upon my soul, I believe it’s a duty ! I say, 
Morewood, do you think he’d see it for himself 
from the picture ? ” 

“ Of course he would. No one could help it.” 

“ Will you let him see it ? ” 

Morewood took a turn or two up and down, 
tugging his beard. The issue was doubtful. A 
certain auditor of the conversation, perceiving this, 
hastily transferred himself from one interlocutor to 
the other. 

“ I’ll tell you what I’ll do : I’ll let him see it if 
Lane agrees. I’ll leave it to Lane.” 

“ Rather rough on Lane, isn’t it ? ” 

“ A little strong emotion of any kind won’t do 
Lane any harm.” 


54 


HOW THREE GENTLEMEN ACTED 


“ Perhaps not. W e will train our young friend’s 
mind to cope with moral problems. He’ll never 
get on in the world nowadays unless he can do 
that. It’s now part of a gentleman’s — still more of 
a lady’s — education.” 

Eugene was clearly wanted. By some agency, 
into which it is needless to inquire, though we may 
have suspicions, at that moment Eugene strolled 
into the billiard-room. 

“We have a little question to submit to you, 
my dear fellow,” said Ayre blandly. 

Eugene looked at him suspiciously. He had 
been a good deal worried the last few days, and 
had a dim idea that he deserved it, which deprived 
him of the sense of unmerited suffering — a most 
valuable consolation in time of trouble. 

“ It’s about Stafford. You remember the head 
of him Morewood did, and the conclusion we drew 
from it — or, rather, it forced upon us ? ” 

Eugene nodded, instinctively assuming his most 
nonchalant air. 

“ We think he’s a bad case. What think you ? ” 

“ I agree — at least, I suppose I do. I haven’t 
thought much about it.” 

Ayre thought the indifference overdone, but he 
took no notice of it. 

“We are inclined to think he ought to be shown 
that picture. I am clear about it ; Morewood 
doubts. And we are going to refer it to you.” 

“You’d better leave me out.” 

“ Not at all. You’re a friend of his, known him 
all your life, and you’ll know best what will be for 
his good.” 

“ If you insist on asking me, I think you had 
better let it alone.” 


55 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ Wait a minute. Why do you say that ? ” 

“ Because it will be a shock to him.” 

“ No doubt, at first. He’s got some silly notion 
in his head about not marrying, and about it’s being 
sinful to fall in love, and all that.” 

“ It won’t make him happier to be refused.” 
Ayre leant forward in his chgir, and said : 

“ How do you know she’ll refuse him ? ” 

“ I don’t know. How should I know ? ” 

“ Do you think it likely ? ” 

“ Is that a fair question ? ” asked Morewood. 

“ Perfectly,” said Eugene, with an expressionless 
face. “ But it’s one I have no means of answer- 
ing.” 

“He’s plucky,” thought Ayre. “Would you 
give the same answer you gave just now if you 
thought she’d take him ? ” 

“It was certainly hard on Eugene. Was he 
bound, against even a tolerably strong feeling of 
his own, to give Stafford every chance ? It is not 
fair to a man to make him a judge where he is in 
truth a party. Ayre had no mercy for him. 

“For the sake of a trumpery pledge is he to 
throw away his own happiness — and mark you. 
Lane, perhaps hers ? ” 

Eugene did not wince. 

“ If there’s a chance of success, he ought to be 
given the opportunity of exercising his own judg- 
ment,” he said quietly. “ It would distress him 
immensely, but we should have no right to keep it 
from him. And I suppose there’s always a chance 
of success.” 

“ Go and get the picture, Morewood,” said Sir 
Roderick. Then, when the painter was looking in 
the portfolio, he said abruptly to Eugene : 

56 


HOW THREE GENTLEMEN ACTED 


“ You could say nothing else.” 

“ No. That’s why you asked me, I suppose. I 
hope I’m an interesting subject. You dig pretty 
deep.” 

“ Serves you right ! ” said Ayre composedly. 
“ Why were you ever such an ass ? ” 

“ God knows ! ” groaned Eugene. 

Morewood returned. 

“He’s due here in ten minutes to sit to me. Are 
you going to stay ? ” 

“No. You be doing something else, and let 
that thing stand on the easel.” 

“ Pleasant for me, isn’t it ? ” asked Morewood. 

“ Are you ashamed of yourself for snatching it? ” 

“Not a bit.” 

“ All right, then ; what’s the matter? Come 
along, Eugene. After all, you know you’ll like 
showing it. For an outsider, like yourself, it’s 
really a deuced clever little bit. Perhaps they will 
make you an Associate if Stafford will let you show 
it.” 

Morewood ignored the taunt, and sat down by 
the window on pretence of touching up a sketch. 
He had not been there long when he heard Staf- 
ford come in, and became conscious that he had 
caught sight of the picture. He did not look up, 
and heard no sound. A long pause followed. 
Then he felt a strong grip on his shoulder, and Staf- 
ford whispered : 

“ It is my face ? ” 

“ You see it is.” 

“ You did it ? ” 

“Yes. I ought to beg your pardon,” and he 
looked up. Stafford was pale as death, and trem- 
bling. 


57 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ When ? ” 

“ A few days ago.” 

“ On your oath — no, you don’t believe that — on 
your honor, is it truth ? ” 

“ Yes, it is.” 

“ You saw it — just as it is there ? ” 

“ Yes, it is exact. I had no right to take it or 
to show it you.” 

“ What does that matter, man ? Do you think 
I care about that? But — yes, it is true. God 
help me ! ” 

“We have seen it, you know. It was time you 
saw it.” 

“ Time, indeed ! ” 

“ Where’s the harm ? ” asked Morewood, in a 
rough effort at comfort. 

“ The harm ? But you don’t understand. It is 
the face of a beast ! ” 

“ My dear fellow, that’s stuff! It’s only the face 
of a lover.” 

Stafford looked at him in a dazed way. 

“ I wish you’d let me go back to my room, 
Morewood, and give me that picture. No — I 
won’t hurt it.” 

“ Take it, then, and pull yourself together. 
What’s the harm, again I say ? And if she loves 
you ” 

“What?” he cried eagerly. Then, checking 
himself, ‘ 4 Hold your peace, in Heaven’s name, and 
let me go ! ” 

He went his way, and Morewood leaped from 
the window to find the other two. He found them, 
but not alone. Ayre was discoursing to Claudia 
and appeared entirely oblivious of the occurrence 
which he had precipitated. Eugene was walking 
58 


HOW THREE GENTLEMEN ACTED 


up and down with Kate Bernard. It is necessary 
to listen to what the latter couple were saying. 

“ This is sad news, Kate,” Eugene said. “ Why 
are you going to leave us? ” 

“ My aunt wants me to go with her to Buxton 
in September, and we’re going to have a few days 
on the river before that.” 

“ Then we shall not meet again for some time ? ” 

“ No. Of course I shall write to you.” 

“ Thank you — I hope you will. You’ve had a 
pleasant time, I hope ? Who are to be your river 
party ? ” 

“ Oh, just ourselves and one or two girls and 
men. Lord Rickmansworth is to be there a day 
or two, if he can. And — oh, yes, Mr. Hadding- 
ton, I think.” 

44 Isn’t Haddington staying here ? ” 

44 I don’t know. I understood not. So your 
party will break up,” Kate went on. “ Of course, 
Claudia can’t stay when I go.” 

44 Why not ? ” 

44 Really, Eugene, it would be hardly the thing.” 

“ I believe my mother is not thinking of going.” 

“ Do you mean you will ask Claudia ? ” 

44 I certainly cannot ask her to curtail her visit.” 

“ Anyhow, Father Stafford goes soon, and she 
won’t stay then.” 

This last shaft accomplished Miss Bernard’s pre- 
sumable object. Eugene lost his temper. 

44 Forgive me for saying so, Kate,” he said, 44 but 
really at times your mind seems to me positively 
vulgar.” 

44 1 am not going to quarrel. I am quite aware 
of what you want.” 

44 What’s that ? ” 


59 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ An opportunity for quarrelling.” 

“ If that’s all, I might have found several. But 
come, Kate, it’s no use, and not very dignified, to 
squabble. W e haven’t got on so well as we might. 
But I dare say it’s my fault.” 

“ Do you want to throw me over ? ” asked Kate 
scornfully. 

“For Heaven’s sake, don’t talk like a breach-of- 
promise plaintiff! I am and always have been 
perfectly ready to fulfill my engagement. But you 
don’t make it easy for me. Unless you ‘ throw me 
over,’ as you are pleased to phrase it, things will 
remain as they are.” 

“ I have been taught to consider an engagement 
as binding as a marriage.” 

“ No warrant for such a view in Holy Script- 
ure.” 

“And whatever my feelings may be — and you 
can hardly wonder if after your conduct they are 
not what they were — I shall consider myself 
bound.” 

“ I have never proposed anything else.” 

“ Your conduct with Claudia ” 

“ I must ask you to leave Lady Claudia alone. 
If you come to that — but there, I was just going 
to scratch back like a school-girl. Let us remem- 
ber our manners, if nothing else.” 

“And our principles,” added Kate haughtily. 

“ By all means, and forget our deviations from 
them. And now this conversation may as well 
end, may it not ? ” 

Kate’s only answer was to walk straight away 
to the house. 

Eugene joined Claudia ; Ayre, in his absence, had 
been reinforced by the accession of Bob Territon, 

60 


HOW THREE GENTLEMEN ACTED 


“ Kate’s going to-morrow,” Eugene announced. 

“So I heard,” said Claudia. “We must go, 
too — we have been here a terrible time.” 

“Why?” 

“ It’s all nonsense ! ” interposed Bob decisively ; 
“ we can’t go for a week. The match is fixed for 
next Wednesday.” 

“ But,” said Claudia, “ I’m not going to play.” 

“ I am,” said Bob. “ And where do you pro- 
pose to go to ? ” 

“ No, Lady Claudia,” said Eugene, “ you must 
see us through the great day. I really wish you 
would. The whole county’s coming, and it will 
be too much for my mother alone. After the 
cricket-match, if you still insist, the deluge ! ” 

“ I’ll ask Mrs. Lane. She’ll tell me what to do.” 

“ Good child ! ” said Sir Roderick. “ I am going 
to stay right away till the birds. And as Lane 
says I ain’t to have any birds unless I field at long- 
leg, I am going to field at long-leg.” 

“ Splendid ! ” cried Claudia, clapping her hands ; 
“ Sir Roderick Ayre at a rustic cricket-match ! 
Mr. More wood shall sketch you.” 

“I’ve had enough of sketching just now,” said 
Morewood. Ayre and Eugene looked up. More- 
wood nodded slightly. 

“ Where’s Stafford ? ” asked Ayre. 

“In his room — at work, I suppose. He put off 
my sitting.” 

“ Never mind Father Stafford/’ said Claudia de- 
cisively. “ Who is going to play tennis ? I shall 
play with Sir Roderick.” 

“I’d much rather sit still in the shade,” pleaded 
Sir Roderick. 

“ You’re a very rude old gentleman ! But you 
61 


FATHER STAFFORD 

must play, all the same — against Bob and Mr. 
More wood.” 

“ Where do I come in? ” asked Eugene. “ Mayn’t 
I do anything, Lady Claudia ? ” 

The others were looking after the net and the rac- 
quets, and Claudia was left with him for a moment. 

“ Yes,” she said; “you may go and sit on Kate’s 
trunks till they lock.” 

“ Wait a little while ; I will be revenged on you. 
I want, though, to ask you a question.” 

“ Oh ! Is it a question that no one else — say 
Kate, for instance — could help you with ? ” 

“ It’s not about myself.” 

“Is it about me ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What’s the matter, Mr. Lane ? Is it anything 
serious ?” 

“ Very.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” said Claudia. “ You really mustn’t 
do it, Mr. Lane, or I can’t stay for the cricket- 
match.” 

“We shall be desolate. Stafford’s going in a few 
days.” 

But Claudia’s face was entirely guileless as she 
replied : 

“ Is he ? I’m so sorry ! But he’s looking much 
stronger, isn’t he ? ” 

With which she departed to join Sir Roderick, 
who had been spending the interval in extracting 
from Morewood an account of Stafford’s behaviour. 

“ Hard hit, was he ? ” he concluded. 

“ He looked it.” 

“ Wonder what he’ll do ! I’ll give you five to 
four he asks her.” 

“ Done ! ” said Morewood ; “ in fives.” 

62 


CHAPTER VI 


FATHER STAFFORD KEEPS VIGIL 

Dinner that evening at the Manor was not a very 
brilliant affair. Stafford did not appear, pleading 
that it was a Friday, and a strict fast for him. 
Kate was distinctly out of temper, and treated the 
company in general, and Eugene in particular, with 
frigidity. Everybody felt that the situation was 
somewhat strained, and in consequence the pleasant 
flow of personal talk that marks parties of friends 
was dried up at its source. The discussion of gen- 
eral topics was found to be a relief. 

“ The utter uselessness of such a class as Ayre 
represents,” said Morewood emphatically, taking up 
a conversation that had started no one quite knew 
how, “ must strike every sensible man. ” 

“ At least they buy pictures,” said Eugene. 

“ On the contrary, they now sell old masters, and 
empty the pockets of would-be buyers.” 

“ They are very ornamental,” remarked Claudia. 

64 In some cases, undoubtedly,” said Morewood. 

“ If you mean a titled class,” said Ayre, “ I quite 
agree. I object to titles. They only confuse ranks. 
A sweep is made a lord, and outsiders think he’s a 
gentleman.” 

“ Come, you’re a baronet yourself, you know,” 
said Eugene. 

“ It’s true,” admitted Ayre, with a sigh; “ but it 
happened a long while ago, and we’ve nearly lived 
it down.” 


63 


FATHER STAFFORD 


44 Take care they don’t make you a peer ! ” 

44 I have passed a busy life in avoiding it. After 
all, there’s a chance. I’m not a brewer or a lawyer, 
or anything of that kind. But still, the fear of it 
has paralysed my energies and compelled me to 
squander my fortune. They don’t make poor men 
peers.” 

44 That ought to have been allowed to weigh 
in the balance in favour of Dives,” suggested Eu- 
gene. 

44 Not a bit,” said Ayre. 44 Depend upon it, they 
kept it for him down below.” 

44 1 hate cynicism ! ” said Claudia, suddenly and 
aggressively. 

Ayre put up his eye-glass. 

44 Apr es? ” 

44 It’s all affectation.” 

44 Really, Lady Claudia, you might be quite old, 
from the way you talk. That is one of the illu- 
sions of age, which, by the way, have not received 
enough attention.” 

44 That’s very true,” said Eugene. 44 Old people 
think the world better than it is because their 
faculties don’t enable them to make such demands 
upon it.” 

44 My dear Eugene,” said Mrs. Lane pertinently, 
44 what can you know about it ? As we grow old 
we grow charitable.” 

“And why is that?” asked Morewood; 44 not 
because you think better of other people, but be- 
cause you know more of yourself.” 

“That is so,” said Ayre. 44 Standing midway 
between youth and age, I am an arbiter. You judge 
others by yourself. In youth you have an unduly 
good opinion of yourself, that unduly depresses 
64 


FATHER STAFFORD KEEPS VIGIL 


your opinion of others. In age it’s the opposite 
way. But who knows which is more wrong ? ” 

“At least let us hope age is right, Sir Rod- 
erick,” said Mrs. Lane. 

“ By all means,” said he. 

“All this doesn’t touch my point,” said Claudia. 
“You are accounting for it as if it existed. My 
point was that it didn’t exist. I said it was all 
affectation.” 

“And not the only sort of affectation of the 
same kind ! ” said Kate Bernard, with remarkable 
emphasis. 

Sir Roderick enjoyed a troubled sea. Turning 
to Kate, with a rapid side glance at Claudia on the 
way, he said : 

“ That’s interesting. How do you mean, Miss 
Bernard? ” 

“ All attempts to put one’s self forward, to be 
peculiar, and so on, are the same kind of affectation, 
and are odious — especially in women.” 

There was nothing very much in the words, and 
Kate was careful to look straight in front of her as 
she uttered them. Still they told. 

“ You mean,” said Ayre, “ there may be an affec- 
tion of freshness and enthusiasm — gush, in fact — as 
bad, or worse, than cynicism, and really springing 
from the same root ? ” 

Kate had not arrived at any such definite mean- 
ing, but she nodded her head. 

“An assumed sprightliness,” continued Ayre 
cheerfully, “ perhaps coquettishness ? ” 

“Exactly,” Kate assented, “and a way of push- 
ing into conversations which my mother used to 
say girls had better let alone.” 

This was tolerably direct, but it did not satisfy 
22 65 


FATHER STAFFORD 


Ayre’s malicious humour, and he was on the point 
of a new question when Haddington, who had taken 
no part in the previous conversation, but had his 
reasons for interfering now, put in suavely : 

“ If Miss Bernard and you, Ayre, will forgive 
me, are we not wandering from the point ? ” 

“ Was there any point to wander from ? ” sug- 
gested Eugene. 

So they drifted through the evening, skirting the 
coast of quarrels and talking of everything except 
that of which they were thinking. Verily, love 
affairs do not always conduce to social enjoyment 
— more especially other people’s love affairs. Still, 
Sir Roderick Ayre was entertained. 

Meanwhile, Stafford sat in his room alone, save 
for the company of his own picture. He was like 
a man who has been groping his way through diffi- 
cult paths in the dark — uneasy, it may be, and ner- 
vous, but with no serious alarm. On a sudden, a 
storm-flash may reveal to him that he is on the 
very edge of a precipice or already ankle- deep in 
some bottomless morass. The sight of his own 
face, interpreted with all Morewood’s penetrating 
insight and mastery of hand, had been a revelation 
to him. No more mercilessly candid messenger 
could have been found. Arguments he would 
have resisted or confuted ; appeals to his own com 
sciousness would have failed for want of experi- 
ence ; he could not affect to disbelieve the verdict 
of his own countenance. He had in all his life 
been a man who dealt plainly with himself ; it was 
only in this last matter that the power, more than 
the will, to understand his own heart had failed 
him. His intellect now reasserted itself. He did 
not attempt to blink facts; he did not deny the 
66 


FATHER STAFFORD KEEPS VIGIL 


truth of the revelation or seek to extenuate its 
force. He did not tell himself that the matter 
was a trifle, or that its effect would be transient. 
He recognised that he had fallen from the state of 
a priest vowed to Heaven, to that of a man whose 
whole heart and mind had gone out in love for a 
woman and were filled with her image. His judg- 
ment of himself was utterly reversed, his presup- 
positions confounded, his scheme of life wrecked ; 
all this he knew for truth, unless indeed it might 
be that victory could still be his — victory after a 
struggle even to death ; a struggle that had found 
no type or forecast in the mimic contests that had 
marked, almost without disturbing, his earlier prog- 
ress on the road of his choice. 

In the long hours that he sat gazing at the pict- 
ure his mind was the scene of changing moods. 
At first the sense of horror and shame was para- 
mount. He was aghast at himself and too full of 
self-abhorrence to do more than fight blindly away 
from what he could not but see. He would fain 
have lost his senses if only to buy the boon of ig- 
norance. Then this mood passed. The long habit 
of his heart asserted itself, and he fell on his knees, 
no longer in horror, but in abasement and peni- 
tence. Now all his thought was for the sin he had 
done to Heaven and to his vow ; but had he not 
learnt and taught, and re-learnt in teaching, that 
there was no sin without pardon, if pardon were 
sought? And for a moment, not peace, but the 
far-off possible hope and prospect of peace regained 
comforted his spirit. It might be yet that he 
would come through the dark valley, and gaze 
with his old eyes on the light of his life set in the 
sky. 

67 


FATHER STAFFORD 


But was his sin only against Heaven and his vow 
and himself? Is sin so confined ? If Morewood 
had seen, had not others ? Had not she seen ? 
Would not the discovery he had made come to 
her also ? Nay, had it not come ? He had been 
blind; but had she? Was it not far more likely 
that she had not deceived herself as to the ten- 
dency of their friendship, nor dreamt that he meant 
anything except what his acts, words, and looks 
had so plainly — yes, to his own eyes now, so 
plainly declared ? He looked back on her gra- 
ciousness, her delight in his society, her uncon- 
cealed admiration for him. What meaning had 
these but one ? What did she know of his vow ? 
Why should she dream of anything save the happy 
ending of the story that flits before the half-averted 
eyes of a girl when she is with her lover? Even if 
she had heard of his vow, would they not all tell 
her it was a conceit of youth, a spiritual affecta- 
tion, a thing that a wise counsellor would tell him 
and her quietly to set aside ? Did it not all point 
to this? He was not only a perjurer toward 
Heaven, but his sin had brought woe and pain to 
her he loved. 

So he groaned in renewed self-condemnation. 
But what did that mean? And then an irresist- 
ible tide of triumph swept over him, obliterating 
shame and horror and remorse. She loved him. 
He had won. Be it good or evil, she was his ! 
Who forbade his joy? Though all the world, aye, 
and all Heaven, were against him, nothing should 
stop him. Should he sin for naught ? Should he 
not have the price of his soul ? Should he not en- 
joy what he had bought so dearly ? Enough of 
talking, and enough of reasoning ! Passion filled 
68 


FATHER STAFFORD KEEPS VIGIL 


him, and he knew no good nor evil save its satiety 
or hunger. 

The mad mood passed, and there came a worthier 
mind. He sat and looked along the avenue of his 
life. He saw himself walking hand in hand with 
her. Now she was not the instrument of his pleas- 
ure, but the helper in his good deeds. Ry her 
sweet influence he was stronger to do well; his 
broader sympathies and fuller life made a servant 
more valuable to his Master; he would serve 
Heaven as well and man better, and, knowing the 
common joys of man, he would better minister to 
common pains. Who was he that he should claim 
to lead a life apart, or arrogate to himself an im- 
munity and an independence other men had not? 
Man and woman created He them, and did it not 
make for good ? And he sank back in his chair, 
with the picture of a life before him, blessed and 
giving blessings, and ending at last in an old age, 
when she would still be with him, when he should 
be the head and inspiration of a house wherein 
God’s service was done, when he should see his 
son’s sons following in his steps, and so, having 
borne his part, fall asleep, to wake again to an union 
wherein were no stain of earth and no shadow of 
parting. 

From these musings he awoke with a shudder, as 
there came back to him many a memory of lofty 
pitying words, with which he had gently drawn 
aside the cloak of seemliness wherein some sinner 
had sought to wrap his sin. His dream of the per- 
fect joint-life, what was it but a sham tribute to 
decency, a threadbare garment for the hideousness 
of naked passion? Had he taught himself to con- 
template such a life, and shaped himself for it, it 
69 


FATHER STAFFORD 

might be a worthy life — not the highest, but good 
for men who were not made for saints. But as it 
was, it seemed to him but a glazing over of his 
crime. Sternly there stood between him and it his 
profession and his pledge. If he would forsake the 
one and violate the other, by Heaven, he would do 
it boldly, and not seek to slink out by such self- 
cozening. At least he would not deceive himself 
again. If he sinned, he would sin openly to his 
own heart. There should be no compact : nothing 
but defeat or victory ! And yet, was he right ? It 
would be pitiful if for pride ? s sake, if for fear of the 
sneers of men, he were to kill her joy and defile his 
own soul with her heart’s blood. People would 
laugh at the converted celibate — was it that he 
feared ? Had he fallen so low as that ? or was the 
shrinking he felt not rather the dread that his fall 
would be a stone of stumbling to others? for in his 
infatuation he had assumed to be an example. 
Was there no distinguishing good and evil ? Could 
every motive and every act change form and colour 
as you looked at it, and be now the counsel of 
Heaven and now the prompting of Satan? How, 
then, could a man choose his path ? In his bewil- 
derment the darkness closed round him, and he 
groaned aloud. 

It was late now, nearly midnight, and the house 
was quiet. Stafford walked to the open window 
and leant out, bending his tired head upon his 
hand. As he looked out he saw through the dark- 
ness Eugene and Ayre still sitting on the terrace. 
Ayre was talking. 

44 Yes,” he was saying, “we are taught to think 
ourselves of a mighty deal of importance. How 
we fare and what we do is set before us as a thing 
70 


FATHER STAFFORD KEEPS VIGIL 


about which angels rejoice or mourn. The state of 
our little minds, or souls, or whatever it is, is a mat- 
ter of deep care to the Creator — the Life of the 
universe. How can it be ? How are we more 
than minutest points in that picture in His mind, 
which is the world ? I speak in human metaphor, 
as one must speak. In truth, we are at once a frac- 
tion, a tiny fraction — oh ! what a tiny fraction — of 
the picture, and the like little jot of what it exists 
for. And does what comes to us matter very much 
— whether we walk a little more or a little less 
cleanly — aim a little higher or lower, if there is a 
higher and lower? What matter? Ah, Eugene, 
our parents and our pastors teach us vanity ! To 
me it seems pitiful. Let us take our little sunshine, 
doing as little harm and giving as little pain as we 
may, living as long as we can, and doing our lictle 
bit of useful work for the ground when we are dead, 
if we did none for the world when we were living 
If you cremate, you will deprive many people of 
their only utility.” 

Eugene gently laughed. 

“ Of course you put it as unattractively as you 
can.” 

“ Yes; but I can’t put it unattractively enough 
to be true. I used to fret and strive, and think 
archangels hung on my actions. There are none ; 
and if there were, what would they care for me ? 
I am a part of it, I suppose — a part of the Red 
King’s dream, as Alice says. But what a little 
part ! I do well if I suffer little and give little suf- 
fering, and so quietly go to help the cabbages.” 

“ I don’t think I believe it,” said Eugene. 

“ I suppose not. It’s hard to believe and im- 
possible to disbelieve.” 


71 


FATHER STAFFORD 


Stafford listened intently. Memories came back 
to him of books he had read and put behind him ; 
books wherein Ayre had found his creed, if the 
thing could be called a creed. Was that true ? 
Was he rending his soul for nothing ? A day 
earlier such a thought would have been to him at 
once a torture and a sin. Now he found a strange 
comfort in it. Why strive and cry, when none 
watched the effort or heard the agony ? Why tort- 
ure himself? Why torture others? If the world 
were good, why was he not to have his part ? If 
it were bad, might he not find a quiet nook under 
the wall, out of the storm ? Why must he try to 
breast it ? If Ayre was right, what a tragical farce 
his struggle was, what a perverse delusion, what an 
aimless flinging away of the little joy his little life 
could offer ! If this were so, then was he indeed 
alone in the world — except for Claudia. Was his 
choice in truth between this world and the next ? 
He might throw one away and never find the 
other. 

Then he cursed the voice, and himself for listen- 
ing to it, and fell again to vehement prayers and 
self-reproaches, trying to drown the clamour of his 
heart with his insistent petitions. If he could only 
pray as he had been wont to pray, he was saved. 
There lay a respite from thought and a refuge from 
passion. Why could he not abandon his whole 
soul to communion with God, as once he could, 
shutting out all save the sense of sin and the con- 
viction of forgiveness ? He prayed for power to 
pray. But, like the guilty king, he could not say 
Amen. He could not bind his wandering thoughts, 
nor dispel the froward imaginings of his dis- 
tempered mind. He asked one thing, and in his 
72 


FATHER STAFFORD KEEPS VIGIL 


heart desired another ; he prayed, and did not 
desire an answer to his prayer ; for when he tried 
to bow his heart in supplication, ever in the midst, 
between him and the throne before which he bent, 
came the form and the face and the voice he loved, 
and the temptation and the longing and the doubt. 
And he was tost and driven about through the live- 
long night till, in utter weariness, he fell on the 
floor and slept. 


73 


CHAPTER VII 

AN EARLY TRAIN AND A MORNING^ AMUSEMENT 

It was still early when he awoke, weary, stiff, 
and unrefreshed, but with a conviction in his mind 
that had grown plain and strong in the mysterious 
way notions sometimes seem to gather force in 
hours of unconsciousness, and surprise us with their 
mature vigour when we awake. “ I must go ! ” he 
kept muttering to himself ; “ I must go — go and 
think. I dare do nothing now.” He hastily packed 
a handbag, wrote a note for Eugene, asking that 
the rest of his luggage might be forwarded to an 
address he would send, went quietly downstairs, 
and, finding the door just opened, passed out un- 
seen. He had three miles to walk to the station, 
but his restless feet brought him there quickly, and 
he had more than a hour to wait for the first train, 
at half-past eight. He sat down on the platform 
and waited. His capacity for thought and emo- 
tion seemed for the time exhausted. His thoughts 
wandered from one trivial matter to another, al- 
ways eluding his effort to fix them. He found 
himself acutely studying the gang of labourers 
who were going by train to their days work, and 
wondering how many pipes each of their carefully 
guarded matches would light, and what each carried 
in his battered tin drinking-bottle, remembering 
with a dreary sort of amusement that he had heard 
this same incurable littleness of thought settled on 
74 


A MORNINGS AMUSEMENT 


men condemned to death. Still, it passed the time, 
and he was surprised out of a sort of reverie by the 
clanging of the porter’s inharmonious bell. 

At the same moment a phaeton was rapidly 
driven up to the door of the station, and all the 
porters rushed to meet it. 

“Label it all for London,” he heard Eugene’s 
voice say. “ Four boxes, a portmanteau, and a 
hat- box. No, I’m not going — this lady and gentle- 
man.” 

Kate, Haddington, and Eugene came through 
the ticket-office on to the platform. Stafford in- 
voluntarily shrank back. 

“ Just in time ! ” Eugene was saying ; “ though 
why the dickens you people will start at such an 
hour, I don’t know. Haddington, I suppose, al- 
ways must be in a hurry — never does for a rising 
man to admit he’s got spare time. But you, Kate ! 
It’s positively uncomplimentary ! ” 

He spoke lightly, but there was a troubled look 
on his face; and as Haddington went off to take 
the tickets he drew near to Kate, and said sud- 
denly : 

“ You are determined on this, Kate? ” 

“ On what ? ” she asked coldly. 

“ Why, to go like this — to bolt — it almost comes 
to that — leaving things as they are between us ? ” 

“ Why not?” 

“ And with Haddington ? n 

“ Do you mean to insult me ? ” 

“ Of course not. But how do you think it must 
look to me? What do you imagine my course 
must be? ” 

“ Really, Eugene, I see no need for this scene. 
I suppose your course will be to wait till I ask you 
75 


FATHER STAFFORD 


to fulfill your promise, and then to fulfil it. You 
have no sort of cause for complaint.” 

Eugene could not resist a smile. 

“You are sublime!” he said. Perhaps he 
would have said more, but at this moment, to his 
intense surprise, his eyes met Stafford’s. The lat- 
ter gave him a quick look, in obedience to which 
he checked his exclamation, and, making some 
excuse about a parcel due and not arrived, uncere- 
moniously handed Kate to a carriage, bundled 
Haddington in after her, and walked rapidly to the 
front of the train, where he had just seen Stafford 
getting into a third-class compartment. 

“ What in the world’s the meaning of this, my 
dear old boy ? ” 

“ I have left a note for you.” 

“ That will explain ? ” 

“No,” said Stafford, with his unsparing truth- 
fulness, “ it will not explain. ” 

“ How fagged you look ! ” 

“ Yes, I am tired.” 

“ You must go now, and like this ? ” 

“ I think that is less bad than anything else.” 

“ You can’t tell me? ” 

“Not now, old fellow. Perhaps I will some 
day.” 

“ You’ll let me know what you’re doing ? Hallo, 
she’s off ! And, Stafford, nothing ever between 

us?” 

“Why should there be?” he answered, with 
some surprise. “But you know there couldn’t 
be.” 

The train moved on as they shook hands, and 
Eugene retraced his steps to his phaeton. 

“ He’s given her up,” he said to himself, with an 
76 


A MORNINGS AMUSEMENT 

irrepressible feeling of relief. “Poor old fellow! 
Now ” 

But Eugene’s reflections were not of a character 
that need or would repay recording. He ought to 
have been ashamed of himself. I venture to think 
he was. Nevertheless, he arrived home in better 
spirits than a man has any right to enjoy when he 
has seen his mistress depart in a temper and his 
best friend in sorrow. Our spirits are not always 
obedient to the dictates of propriety. It is often 
equally in vain that we call them from the vasty 
deep, or try to dismiss them to it. They are re- 
bellious creatures, whose only merit is their sin- 
cerity. 

Sir Roderick Ayre allowed few things to sur- 
prise him, but the fact of any one deliberately 
starting by the early train was one of the few. In 
regard to such conduct, he retained all his youth- 
ful capacity for wonder. Surprise, however, gave 
way to unrestrained and indecent exultation when 
he learned that the early party had consisted of 
Kate and Haddington, and that Eugene himself 
had escorted them to the station. Eugene was in 
too good a temper to be seriously annoyed. 

“ I know it makes me look an ass,” he said, as 
they smoked the after-breakfast pipe, “ but I sup- 
pose that’s all in the day’s work.” 

“No doubt. It is the day’s work,” said Ayre; 
“ but, oh, diplomatic young man, why didn’t you 
tell us at breakfast that the pope had also 
gone ? ” 

“ Oh, you know that? ” 

“ Of course. My man Timmins brings me what 
I may call a way-bill every morning, and against 
Stafford’s name was placed 4 8.30 train.’ ” 

77 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ Useful man, Timmins,” said Eugene. “ Did 
he happen to add why he had gone ? ” 

“There are limitations even to Timmins. He 
did not.” 

“ You can guess ? ” 

“ Well, I suppose I can,” answered Ayre, with 
some resentment. 

“ He’s given it up, apparently.” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ He must have. Awfully cut up he looked, 
poor old chap ! I was glad Kate and Haddington 
didn’t see him.” 

“ Poor chap ! He takes it hard. Hallo ! here’s 
th efons et origo mali .” 

Morewood joined them. 

“ I have been,” he said gravely, “ rescuing my 
picture. That inspired lunatic had wrapped it up 
in brown paper, and put it among his socks in his 
portmanteau. I couldn’t see it anywhere till I 
routed out the portmanteau. If it had come to 
grief I should have entered the Academy.” 

“ Don’t give way so,” said Ayre ; “ it’s unmanly. 
Control your emotions.” 

Eugene rose. 

“ Where are you going ? ” 

Eugene smiled. 

“ This,” said Ayre to Morewood, with a wave of 
his hand, “is an abandoned young man.” 

“ It is,” said Morewood. “ Bob Territon is going 
rat-hunting, and proposes we shall also go. What 
say you ? ” 

“ I say yes,” said Sir Roderick, with alacrity. 
“It’s a beastly cruel sport.” 

“ You have lost,” said Morewood, as they walked 
away together. 


78 


A MORNING S AMUSEMENT 


“Wait a bit!" said his companion. “But, 
young Eugene ! It’s a pity that young man has 
no morals." 

“ Is that so ? ” 

“ Oh ! not simplicity % you know. Secundum quid .’’ 

“ Secundum feminam, in fact ? ” 

“ Yes ; and I brought him up, too." 

“‘By their fruits ye shall know them.’ But 
here’s Bob and the terriers." 

“ Don’t you fellows ever have a sister," said Bob, 
as he came up ; “ Claudia’s just savage because the 
pope’s gone. Can’t get her morning absolution, 
you know." 

“ Are absolution and ablution the same word, 
Morewood ? ” asked Ayre. 

“ Don’t know. Ask the Rector. He’s sure to 
turn up when he hears of the rats." 

“ I think they must be — a sort of spiritual tub. 
But Morewood will never admit he’s been educated. 
It detracts from his claim to genius." 

Eugene, freed from this frivolous company, was 
not long in discovering Claudia’s whereabouts. He 
felt like a boy released from school and, turning 
his eyes away from future difficulties, was deterr 
mined to enjoy himself while he could. Claudia 
was seated on the lawn in complete idleness and, 
apparently, considerable discontent. 

“ Do your guests always scurry away without 
saying good-bye to anybody, Mr. Lane ? ” she asked. 

“ I hope that you, at least, will not. But didn’t 
Kate say good-bye, or Haddington ? ” 

“ I meant Father Stafford, of course." 

“ Oh, he had to go. He sent an apology to you 
and all the party.” 

“ Did he tell you why he had to go ? " 

79 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“No,” said Eugene, regarding her with covert 
attention. 

fi 4 It’s a pity if he’s unaccountable. I like him so 
much otherwise.” 

“ You don’t like unaccountable people ? ” 

Claudia seemed quite willing to let Stafford drop 
out of the conversation. 

44 No,” she said ; 44 1 tolerate you, Mr. Lane, be- 
cause I always know exactly what you’ll do.” 

44 Do you ? ” he asked, only moderately pleased. 
A man likes to be thought a little mysterious. No 
doubt Claudia knew that. 

44 1 don’t think you know what I am going to 
do now.” 

44 What?” 

44 I’m going to ask you if you know why Father 
Stafford ” 

44 Oh, please, excuse me, Mr. Lane. I can’t 
speculate on your friend’s motives. I don’t pro- 
fess to understand him.” 

This might be indifference; it sounded to Eu- 
gene very like pique. 

44 1 thought you might know.” 

44 Mr. Lane,” said Claudia, 44 either you mean 
something or you don’t. If the one, you’re taking 
a liberty, and one entirely without excuse ; if the 
other, you are simply tedious.” 

44 1 beg your pardon,” said Eugene stiffly. 

Claudia gave a little laugh. 

44 Why do you make me be so aggressive ? I 
don’t want to be. Was I awfully severe ? ” 

“Yes, rather.” 

44 1 meant it, you know. But did you come quite 
resolved to quarrel ? I want to be pleasant.” And 
Claudia raised her eyes with a reproachful glance. 

80 


A MORNINGS AMUSEMENT 


“ In anger or otherwise, you are always delight- 
ful,” said Eugene politely. 

“ I accept that as a diplomatic advance — not in 
its literal sense. After all, I must be nice to you. 
You’re all alone this morning.” 

“ Lady Claudia,” said he gravely, “ either you 
mean something or you do not. If the one ” 

“ Be quiet this moment ! ” she said, laughing. 

He obeyed, and lay back in his low chair with a 
sigh of content. 

“Yes; never mind Stafford and never mind 
Kate. Why should we ? They’re not here.” 

“ My silence is not to be taken for consent,” 
said Claudia, “ only it’s too fine a day to spend in 
trying to improve you or, indeed, anybody else. 
But I shall not forget any of my friends.” 

Now up to this point Eugene had behaved toler- 
ably well. It is, however, a dangerous thing to 
set yourself deliberately to study a lady’s attrac- 
tions. Like all other one-sided views of a subject, 
it is apt to carry you too far. The sun and the 
wind were playing about in Claudia’s hair, her eyes 
were full of light, and her whole air, in spite of a 
genuine effort after demureness, conveyed to any 
self-respecting man an irresistible challenge to 
make himself agreeable if he could. Eugene’s no- 
tions of making himself agreeable were, as may 
have been gathered, liberal ; they certainly included 
more than can be considered strictly incumbent on 
young men in society. And, besides being polite, 
Eugene was also curious. It is one thing to silently 
suffer under a passion which a sense of duty for- 
bids ; such a position has its pleasures. The situ- 
ation is altered when the idea dawns upon you that 
there is no reciprocity of graceful suffering ; that, in 
23 81 


FATHER STAFFORD 


fact, the lady may prefer somebody else. Eugene 
wanted to know where he stood. 

“ Shall you be sorry to leave here ? ” he asked. 

“ My feelings will be mixed. You see, Rick- 
mansworth has actually consented to take me with 
him to his moor, and that will be great fun.” 

“ Why, you don’t go killing birds ? ” 

“No, I don’t kill birds.” 

“ There’ll be only a pack of men there.” 

“ That’s all. But I don’t mind that — if the sce- 
nery is good.” 

“ I believe you’re trying to make me angry.” 

“ Oh, no ! I know Sir Roderick doesn’t let you 
be angry. It’s not good form.” 

“ Have you no heart, Claudia? ” 

“ I don’t know. But I have a prefix.” 

“ Have you, after ten years’ friendship? ” 

Claudia laughed. 

“You make me rather old. Were we friends 
when I was ten ? ” 

“ Oh, bother dates ! I don’t count by time.” 

“ Really, Mr. Lane, if you were anybody else 1 
should call this absurd. It would be flattering you 
and myself to call it wrong.” 

“ Why?” 

“ Because that would imply you were serious.” 

“ Would it be wrong if I were? ” 

‘ 6 W ell, it would be generally considered so, un- 
der the circumstances.” 

“ I don’t care about that. I have endured it 
long enough. O Claudia ! don’t you see ? ” 

“ I suppose,” thought Claudia, “ I ought to crush 
him at this point. I think I’ll wait a little bit, 
though.” 

“ See what ? ” she said. 

82 


A MORNINGS AMUSEMENT 


“ Why, that — that ” 

“Well?” 

“ Hang it ! why is it always so abominably ab- 
surd? Why, that I love the ground you tread 
on, Claudia ? Is this wretched thing to keep us 
apart? ” 

4 4 Mr. Lane, you’re magnificent ; but isn’t there a 
trifling assumption in your last remark ? ” 

44 How ? ” 

44 W ell, you seemed — perhaps you didn’t mean 
it — to imply that only that 4 wretched thing 5 kept 
us apart. That’s rather taking me for granted, 
isn’t it ? ” 

44 Ah ! you know I didn’t mean it. But if things 
were different, could you ” 

44 A conditional proposal is a new fashion. Is 
that one of Sir Roderick’s ideas ? ” 

Eugene was at last angry. He was silent for a 
moment. Then he said : 

44 1 see. I must congratulate you.” 

44 On what ? ” 

44 On having bagged a brace — without accident 
to yourself. But I have had enough of it.” 

And without waiting for a reply to this very 
rude speech, he rose and flung himself across the 
lawn into the house. 

Claudia seemed less angry than she ought to 
have been. She sat with a little smile for a mo- 
ment, then she threw her hat in the air and caught 
it, then lay back, sighed gently, and murmured : 

44 Heigho ! a brace means two, doesn’t it ? Who’s 
the other ? Oh ! Mr. Haddington, I suppose. I 
didn’t think he knew. Poor Eugene ! He’s very 
angry, or he’d never have been so rude. 4 Bagged 
a brace ! ’ ” 


83 


FATHER STAFFORD 


And she actually laughed again, and then said 
“ Heigho ! ” again. 

Just at this moment Ayre came up the drive, 
looking very hot and very disgusted. Seeing Clau- 
dia, he came and sat down. 

44 Bob’s rat-hunting’s a mere fraud,” he said. 44 1 
was there half-an-hour, and we only bagged a 
brace.” 

44 What a curious coincidence ! ” exclaimed Clau- 
dia. 

44 How a coincidence ? ” 

44 Oh, nothing. Bagging a brace means killing 
two, doesn’t it ? ” 

44 Yes. Why?” 

44 Oh, I wanted to know.” 

Ayre looked at her. 

44 Where’s Eugene ? ’ 

44 He was here just now, but he’s gone into the 
house.” 

Ayre stroked his moustache meditatively. 

44 Did you want him ? ” 

44 No, not particularly. I thought I should find 
him here.” 

44 You would if you’d come a little sooner.” 

44 Ah! I’ll go and find him.” 

44 Yes, I should.” 

And off he went. 

44 It is really very pleasant,” said Claudia, 44 to 
prevent Sir Roderick finding out things that he 
wants to find out. I think it does me credit — and 
it annoys him so very much. I will go and have a 
nice drive with Mrs. Lane, and see some old women. 
I feel as if I ought to do something proper.” 

And perhaps it was about time. 


84 


CHAPTER VIII 


STAFFORD IN RETREAT, AND SIR RODERICK IN 
ACTION 

W hen Stafford got into the train on his headlong 
flight from Millstead Manor, he had no settled idea 
of his destination, and he arrived in London with- 
out having made much progress toward a resolu- 
tion. Not knowing what he wanted, he could not 
decide where he was most likely to find it. Did 
he want to forget or to think ; to repent or to re- 
solve ? This is the alternative that presents itself 
to a mind puzzled to know whether its doubt is a 
concession to sin or a homage to reason. Stafford 
had been bred in a school widely different from 
that which treats all questions as open, and all to 
be referred to the verdict of the balance of expedi- 
ency. Among other lessons, he had been taught 
a deep distrust of the instrument by which he was 
forced to guide his actions. But no training had 
succeeded in eradicating a strong mind’s instinct of 
self-confidence, and if up till now he had committed 
no rebellion, it was because his reason had been 
rather a voluntary and eager helper than a captive 
or slave to the tribunal he distinguished from it by 
the name of conscience. With some surprise at him- 
self — a surprise that now took the place of shame 
— he recognised that he was not ready to take 
everything for granted, that he must know that 
what he was flying from was in fact sin, not only 
85 


FATHER STAFFORD 


that it might be. That it was sin he fully believed, 
but he would be sure. So much triumph his pas- 
sion extorted from him as he paced irresolutely up 
and down the square in front of Euston, after see- 
ing Kate and Haddington safely away, while the 
porter and cabman wondered why the traveller 
seemed not sure where he wanted to go. Of their 
wonder and their irreverent suggestions he was 
supremely careless. 

No, he would not go back at once to his active 
work. Not only did his health still forbid that — 
and, indeed, last night’s struggle seemed to him to 
have undone most of the good he had gained from 
the quiet of Millstead — but, what was more, he be- 
lieved, above all, in the importance of the state of 
the pastor’s own soul, and was convinced that his 
work would be weak and futile done under such 
conditions; that, in theological language, there 
would be no blessing on it. When he had once 
reached that conclusion, his path was plain before 
him. He would go to the Retreat. This word 
Retreat has become familiar to those who study 
ecclesiastical items in the paper. But the Retreat 
Stafford had in his mind was not quite of the com- 
mon kind. It had been founded by one of the 
leaders of his party, and was intended to serve the 
function of a spiritual casual ward, whither those 
who were for the moment at a loss might resort 
and find refuge until they had time to turn round. 
It was not a permanent home for any one. After 
his stay, the visitor returned to the world, if he 
would ; if he were finally disabled he was passed on 
to a permanent residence of another kind. The 
Retreat was a temporary refuge only. Sometimes 
it was full, sometimes it was empty, save for the 
86 


STAFFORD AND SIR RODERICK 


Superintendent, as he was called ; for religious 
terms were avoided, and a severe neutrality of de- 
scription forbade the possibility of the Retreat itself 
seeming to take any side in the various mental bat- 
tles for which it afforded a clear field, remote from 
interruption and from the bias alike of the world 
and of previous religious prepossessions. A man 
was entirely left to himself at the Retreat. Save 
at the dinner hour, no one spoke to him except the 
Superintendent. The rule of his office was that he 
should always be ready to listen on all subjects, 
and to talk on all indifferent subjects. Advice and 
exhortation were forbidden to him. If a man 
wanted the ordinary consolations of religion, his 
case was not the special case the Retreat was 
founded to meet. When nobody could help a 
man, and nothing was left for him but to go through 
with the struggle in his own soul, then he came to 
the Retreat. There he stayed till he reached some 
conclusion : that is, if he could reach one within a 
reasonable time ; for the pretence of unconquerable 
hesitation was not received. When he arrived at 
his resolve, he went away : what the resolve was, 
and where he was going, whether to High or Low, 
to Rome or Islington, to Church or Dissent, or 
even to Mohammed or Theosophy, or what not, or 
nothing, nobody asked. Such a foundation had 
struck many devoted followers of the Founder as 
little better than a negation or an abdication. The 
Founder thought otherwise. “ If forms and words 
are of any use to him, a man will never come,” he 
said ; “ if he comes, let him alone.” And it may be 
that this difference between the Founder and his 
disciples was due to the fact that the Founder be- 
lieved that, given a fair field in any honest mind, 


FATHER STAFFORD 


his views must prevail, whereas the disciples were 
not so strong in faith. 

It is very possible the disciples were right, in a 
way ; but still the Founder’s scheme now and then 
caught a great prize that the disciples would have 
lost through their over-great meddling. The 
Founder would have repudiated the idea of differ- 
ences in value between souls. But men some- 
times act on ideas they repudiate, and with very 
good results. 

Whatever the merits or demerits of the Retreat 
might be, it was just the place Stafford wanted. 
He shrank, almost with loathing, from the thought 
of exposing himself to well-meant ministrations 
from men who were his inferiors : the theory of 
the equalising effect of the sacred office, which 
appears to be held in great tranquillity by many 
who see the absurdity of parallel ideas applied in 
other spheres, was one of the fictions that proved 
entirely powerless over his mind at this juncture. 
He did not say to himself that fools were fools and 
blind men blind, whatever their office, degree, or 
profession, but he was driven to the Retreat by a 
thought that a brutal speaker might have rendered 
for him in those words without essential misrepre- 
sentation. Above all, he wanted quiet — time to 
understand the new forces and to estimate the 
good or evil of the new ideas. 

Arriving there late in the evening of the same 
day on which he left Millstead, for the Retreat was 
situated on the borders of Exmoor and the journey 
from Paddington was long and slow, he was re- 
ceived by the Superintendent with the grave wel- 
come and studious absence of questioning that was 
the rule of the house. The Superintendent was 
88 


STAFFORD AND SIR RODERICK 


an elderly man, inclining to stoutness and of un- 
yielding placidity. It was suspected that the 
Founder had taken pains to choose a man who 
would observe his injunction of not meddling with 
thorny questions the more strictly from his own in- 
ability to understand them. 

“ We are very empty just now,” he said, with a 
sigh. Poor man ! perhaps it was dull. “ Only 
two, besides yourself.” 

“ The fewer the better,” said Stafford, with a 
smile, half in earnest, half humouring the genius of 
the place. 

The Superintendent looked as if he might have 
said something on the other side but refrained, and, 
without more ado, made Stafford at home in the 
bare little room that was to serve him for sleeping 
and living. Stafford was full of weariness, and 
sank down on the bed with a sense of momentary 
respite. He would not begin to think till to- 
morrow. 

Here we must leave him to wage his uncertain 
battle. When the visible and the invisible meet 
in the shock of strife about the soul of a man, who 
may describe the changes and chances of the fight? 
In the peace of his chosen solitude would he re- 
conquer the vision that the clouds had hidden from 
him? Or would the allurements of his earthly love 
be less strong because its dazzling incitements were 
no longer actually before his eyes ? He had re- 
fused all aid and all alliance. He had chosen to 
try the issue alone and unbefriended. Was he 
strong enough? — strong enough to think on his 
love, and yet not to bow to it ? — strong enough to 
picture to himself all its charms, only to refuse to 
gather them? Should he not have seized every aid 
89 


FATHER STAFFORD 


that counsel and authority could offer him ? W ould 
he not find too late that his true strategy had been 
to fly, and not to challenge, the encounter ? He 
had fancied he could be himself the impartial judge 
in his own cause, however vast the bribe that lay 
ready to his hand. The issue of his sojourn alone 
could tell whether he had misjudged his strength. 

While Stafford mused and strove the world 
moved on, and with it that small fraction of it 
whose movements most nearly bore on the fortunes 
of the recluse. 

The party at Millstead Manor was finally broken 
up by the departure of the Territons and of More- 
wood about a week after Stafford left. The cricket- 
match came off with great eclat; in spite of a 
steady thirteen from the Rector, who spent two 
hours in “ compiling ” it — to use the technical term 
— and of several catches missed by Sir Roderick, 
who was tried in vain in all positions in the field, 
the Manor team won by five wickets, and Bob 
Territon felt that his summer had been well spent. 
Ayre lingered on with Eugene, shooting the coverts 
till mid September, when the latter abruptly and 
perhaps rudely announced that he could not stand 
it any longer, and straightway took himself off to 
the Continent, sending a line to Stafford to ap- 
prise him of the fact, and another to Kate, to say 
he would have no address for the next month. 

For a moment Sir Roderick was at a loss. He 
was tired of shooting ; he hated yachting ; the ordi- 
nary country-house visit was nothing but shooting 
in the daytime and unmitigated boredom in the 
evening. Really he didn’t know what to do with 
himself. This alarming state of mind might have 
issued in some incongruous activity of a useful 
90 


STAFFORD AND SIR RODERICK 


sort, had not he been rescued from it by the sudden 
discovery that he had a mission. This revelation 
dawned upon him in consequence of a note he re- 
ceived from Lord Rickmansworth. It appeared 
that that nobleman had very soon got tired of his 
moor, had resigned it into the eager hands of Bob 
Territon, and was now at Baden-Baden. This was 
certainly odd, and the writer evidently knew it 
would appear so ; he therefore appended an expla- 
nation which was entirely satisfactory to Sir Rod- 
erick, but which is, happily, irrelevant to the pur- 
poses of this story. What is more to the purpose, 
it further appeared that Mrs. Welman, Kate Ber- 
nard’s aunt, had discarded Buxton in favor of the 
same resort, and that Mr. Haddington, M. P., had 
also “ proceeded ” thither. 

“ They are at’ the Victoria,” wrote Rickmans- 
worth ; “ I am at the Badischerhof, and — [irrele- 
vant matter]. I go about a good deal with them, 
but it’s beastly slow. Haddington is all day in 
Kate’s pocket, and Kate at best isn’t amusing. 
But what’s Lane up to ? Do come out here, old 
fellow. I’ll find you some amusement. Who do 
you think is here with — [more irrelevant matter].” 

Sir Roderick was influenced in part, no doubt, by 
the irrelevant matter. But he also felt that what 
concerns us concerned him. He had come to a 
very definite conclusion that Kate Bernard ought 
not to marry Eugene Lane. He was also sure that 
unless something was done the marriage would 
take place. Kate did not care for Eugene, but 
the match was too good to be given up. Eugene 
would never face the turmoil necessary to break it 
off. 

“ I am the man,” said Sir Roderick to himself. 

91 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ I couldn’t catch the parson, but if I can’t catch 
Miss Kate, call me an ass ! ” 

And he took train to Baden, sending off a wire 
to More wood to join him if he could, for a consid- 
erable friendship existed between them. More- 
wood, however, wouldn’t come, and Ayre was forced 
to make the journey in solitude. 

“ I thought I should bring him ! ” exclaimed Lord 
Rickmansworth triumphantly, as he received his 
friend on the platform, and conducted him to a very 
perfect drag which stood at the door. “ Oh, you 
old thief!” 

Rickmansworth was a tall, broad, reddish-faced 
young man, with a jovial laugh, infinite capacity 
for being amused at things not intrinsically humour- 
ous, and manners that he had tried, fortunately with 
imperfect success, to model on those of a prize- 
fighter. Ayre liked him for what he was, while 
shuddering at what he tried to be. 

“ I didn’t come on that account at all,” he said. 
<e I came to look after some business.” 

“ Get out ! ” said the Earl pleasantly ; “ do you 
think I don’t know you ? ” 

Ayre allowed himself to yield in silence. His 
motives were a little mixed ; and, anyhow, it was 
not at the moment desirable to explain them. His 
vindication would wait. 

In the afternoon he paid his call on Mrs. Wel- 
man. She was delighted to see him, not only as a 
man of social repute, but also because the good 
lady was in no little distress of mind. The arrange- 
ment between Kate and Eugene was, as a family ar- 
rangement, above perfection. Mrs. Welman was 
not rich, and like people who are not rich, she 
highly esteemed riches ; like most women, she 
92 


STAFFORD AND SIR RODERICK 


looked with favour on Eugene ; the fact of Kate 
having some money seemed to her, as it does to 
most people, a reason for her marrying somebody 
who had more, instead of aiding in the beneficent 
work of a more equal distribution of wealth. But 
Kate was undeniably wilful. She treated her en- 
gagement, indeed, as an absolutely binding and un- 
breakable tie — a fact so conclusively accomplished 
that it could almost be ignored. But she received 
any suggestion of a possible excess in her graciousness 
toward Haddington and her acceptance of his so- 
ciety, as at once a folly and an insult ; and as she was 
of age and paid half the bills, all means of suasion 
were conspicuously lacking. Mrs. Welman was in 
a position exactly the reverse of the pleasant one ; 
she had responsibility without power. It is true 
her responsibility was mainly a figment of her own 
brain, but its burden upon her was none the less 
heavy for that. 

It must be admitted that Ayre’s dealings with 
her were wanting in candour. Under the guise of 
family friendship, he led her on to open her mind 
to him. He extracted from her detailed accounts 
of long excursions into the outskirts of the forest, 
of numberless walks in the shady paths, of an ex- 
pedition to the races (where perfect solitude can 
always be obtained), and of many other diversions 
which Kate and Haddington had enjoyed together, 
while she was left to knit “ clouds ” and chew re- 
flections in the Kurhaus garden. All this, Ayre 
recognised, with lively but suppressed satisfaction, 
was not as it should be. 

“ I have spoken to Kate,” she concluded, “ but 
she takes no notice ; will you do me a service ? ” 

“ Of course,” said Ayre ; “ anything I can.” 

93 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ Will you speak to Mr. Haddington ? ” 

This by no means suited Ayre’s book. More- 
over, it would very likely expose him to a snub, 
and he had no fancy for being snubbed by a man 
like Haddington. 

“ I can hardly do that. I have no position. I’m 
not her father, or uncle, or anything of that sort.” 

“You might influence him.” 

“ No, he’d tell me to mind my own business. 
To speak plainly, my dear lady, it isn’t as if Kate 
couldn’t take care of herself. She could stop his 
attentions to-morrow if she liked. Isn’t it so? ” 

Mrs. Welman sadly admitted it was. 

“ The only thing I can do is to keep an eye on 
them, and act as I think best ; that I will gladly 
do.” 

And with this very ambiguous promise poor 
Mrs. Welman was forced to be content. What- 
ever his inward view of his own meaning was, 
Ayre certainly fulfilled to the letter his promise of 
keeping an eye on them. Kate was at first much 
annoyed at his appearance ; she thought she saw 
in him an emissary of Eugene. Sir Roderick tact- 
fully disabused her mind of this notion, and, with- 
out intruding himself, he managed to be with them 
a good deal, and with Haddington alone a good deal 
more. Moreover, even when absent, he could gen- 
erally have given a shrewd guess where they were 
and what they were doing. Without altogether 
neglecting the other claims at which Rickmans- 
worth had hinted, and which resolved themselves 
into a long-standing and entirely platonic attach- 
ment, he yet devoted himself with zest and assidu- 
ity to his self-imposed task. 

In its prosecution he contrived to make use of 
94 


STAFFORD AND SIR RODERICK 


Rickmansworth to some extent. The young man 
was a hospitable soul, delighting in parties and pic- 
nics. Only consent to sit with him on his four-in- 
hand and let him drive you, and he cheerfully 
feasted you and all your friends. His acquaintance 
was large, and not, perhaps, very select. But Ayre 
insisted on the proper distinctions being observed, 
and was indebted to Rickmansworth ’s parties for 
many opportunities of observation. He was sure 
Haddington meant to marry Kate if he could ; 
the scruples which had in some degree restrained 
his actions, though not his designs, at Millstead, 
had vanished, and he was pushing his suit, firmly 
and daringly ignoring the fact of the engagement. 
Kate did nothing to remind him of it that Ayre 
could see, but her behaviour, on the other hand, 
convinced him that Haddington was to her only 
a second string, and that, unless compelled, she 
would not let Eugene go. She took occasion 
more than once to show him that she regarded her 
relation to Eugene as fully existent. No doubt 
she thought there was a chance that such words 
might find their way to Eugene’s ears. It is 
hardly necessary to say they did not. 

W atch as he might, Ayre’s chance was slow in 
coming. He knew very well that the fact of a 
young lady, deserted by him who ought to have 
been in attendance, consoling herself with a flirta- 
tion with somebody else, was not enough for him 
to go upon. He must have something more tan- 
gible than that. He did not, indeed, look for any- 
thing that would compel Eugene to act ; he had 
no expectation and, to do him justice, no hope of 
that, for he knew Eugene would act on nothing 
but an extreme necessity. His hope lay in Kate 
95 


FATHER STAFFORD 


herself. On her he was prepared to have small 
mercy ; against her he felt justified in playing the 
very rigour of the game. But for a long while he 
had no opportunity of beginning the rubber. A 
fortnight wore away, and nothing was done. Ayre 
determined to wait on events no longer; he would 
try his hand at shaping them. 

44 1 wonder if Rick is too great a fool ? ” he said 
to himself meditatively one morning, as he crossed 
one of the little bridges, and took his way to the 
Kurhaus in search of his friend. 44 I must try him.” 

He found Lord Rickmansworth alone, but quite 
content. It was one of his happy characteristics 
that he existed with delight under almost any cir- 
cumstances. One of his team was lame, and a 
great friend of his was sulky and had sent him 
away, and yet he sat radiantly cheerful, with a 
large cigar in his mouth and a small terrier by his 
side, subjecting every lady who passed to a respect- 
ful and covert but none the less searching and se- 
vere examination. 

44 1 say, Rick, have you seen Haddington lately ? ” 

44 Yes ; he’s gone down the road with Kate Ber- 
nard to play tennis, or some such foolery.” 

44 With Kate?” 

44 Rather ! Didn’t expect anything else, did you ? ” 

44 Does he mean to marry that girl ? ” asked Ayre, 
with a face of great innocence, much as if it had 
just occurred to him. 

44 Well, he can’t, unless she chucks old Eugene 
over.” 

44 Will she, do you think ? ” 

44 Well, I’m afraid not. I’ve got some money 
on that they’re never married, but I don’t see my 
way to handling it.” 


96 


STAFFORD AND SIR RODERICK 


“ Much?” 

“ Well, no ; about twopence-halfpenny — a fancy 
bet.” 

“ I’m glad it’s nothing, because I want you to 
help me, and you couldn’t have if you had anything 
on ; besides, you shouldn’t bet on such things.” 

44 Oh, I’m not going to meddle with the thing. 
It’s enough work to prevent one’s self getting mar- 
ried, without troubling about other people. But 
I rather like you telling me not to bet on it ! ” 

44 She wouldn’t suit Eugene.” 

44 No; lead him the devil of a life.” 

44 She don’t care for him.” 

44 Not a straw.” 

44 Then, why don’t she break it off? ” 

44 Ah, you innocent ! ” said Rickmans worth, 
with a broad grin. 44 Never heard of such a thing 
as money in the case, did you ? Where have you 
been these last five-and- forty years ? ” 

44 Your raillery’s a little fatiguing, Rick, if you 
don’t mind my saying so.” 

44 Say anything you like, old chap, as long as it 
isn’t swearing. That’s verbot here — penalty one 
mark — see regulations. You must go outside if 
you want to curse, barring of course you’re a mill- 
ionaire and like to make a splash.” 

44 Rick, Rick, you do not amuse me. I do not 
belong to the Albatross Club.” 

44 No; over age,” replied his companion blandly, 
and chuckled violently. 

44 1 like to score off old Ayre, you know,” he 
said, in reporting the episode afterward. 44 He 
thinks himself smart.” 

44 But look here. I want you to do this : you go 
to Haddington and stir him up ; tell him to bustle 
24 97 


FATHER STAFFORD 


along ; tell him Kate is fooling him, and make him 
put it to her — yes or no.” 

“ Why ? it’s not my funeral ! ” 

« Is that your latest American? I wish you’d 
find native slang; we used in my day; but I’ll tell 
you why. It’s because she’s keeping him on till she 
sees what Eugene’ll do. She’s treating Eugene 
shamefully.” 

“ Oh, stow all that ! Eugene is not so remarka- 
bly strict, you know.” And Lord Rickmans worth 
winked. 

“ Well, we’ll leave that out,” said Ayre, smiling. 
“ Tell him it’s treating him shamefully.” 

“ That’s more the ticket. But what if she says 
‘No’?” 

“If she says ‘ No ’ right out, I’m done,” said 
Ayre. “ But will she ? ” 

“ The devil only knows ! ” said Lord Rickmans- 
worth. 

“ Do you think you won’t bungle it ? ” 

“Do you take me for an ass? I’ll make him 
move, Ayre ; he shall give her a chaste salute be- 
fore the day’s out. Old Eugene’s no better than 
he should be, but I’ll see him through.” 

Ayre thought privately that his companion had 
perhaps other motives than love for Eugene : per- 
haps family feelings, generally dormant, had as- 
serted themselves ; but he had the wisdom not to 
hint at this. 

“ If you can frighten him, he’ll press it on.” 

“ Do you think I might lie a bit ? ” 

“No, I shouldn’t lie. It’s awkward. Besides, 
you know you wouldn’t do it, and you couldn’t if 
you tried.” 

“I’ll stir him up,” reiterated Rickmansworth. 

98 


STAFFORD AND SIR RODERICK 


“ Give me my prayer-book and parasol, and I’ll go 
and find him.” 

Ayre ignored what he supposed to be the joke 
buried in this saying, and saw his friend off on his 
errand, repeating his instructions as he went. 

AVhat Lord Rickmans worth said to Mr. Had- 
dington has never, as the newspapers put it, trans' 
spired. But ever since that date Sir Roderick has 
always declared that Rick is not such a fool as he 
looks. Certainly the envoy was well pleased with 
himself when he rejoined his companion at dinner, 
and after imbibing a full glass of champagne, said : 

“ To-night, my worthy old friend, you will see.” 

4 4 Did he bite ? ” 

“ He bit. That fellows no fool. He saw Kate’s 
game when I pointed it out.” 

44 Will he stand up to her ? ” 

44 Rather! going to hold a pistol to her head.” 

44 I wonder what she’ll say ? ” 

44 That’s your lookout. I’ve done my stage.” 

Ayre was nearer excitement than he had been 
for a long while. After dinner he could not rest. 
Refusing to accompany Rickmansworth to the en- 
tertainment the latter was bound for, he strolled out 
into the quiet walks outside the Ivurhaus, which 
were deserted by visitors and peopled only by a few 
frugal natives, who saved their money and took the 
music of the band from a cheap distance. But 
surely some power was fighting for him, for before 
he had gone a hundred yards he saw on one of the 
seats in front of him two persons whom the light of 
the moon clearly displayed as Kate and Hadding- 
ton. At Baden there is a little hillside — one path 
runs at the bottom, another runs along the side of 
the hill, half-way up. Ayre hastily diverted his 
99 


FATHER STAFFORD 


steps into the upper path. A minute’s walk brought 
him directly behind the pair. Trees hid him from 
them ; a seat invited him. For a moment he strug- 
gled. Then, rubesco ref evens, he sat down and de- 
liberately listened. With the sophisms by which 
he sought to justify this action, we have no concern ; 
perhaps he was not in reality much concerned about 
them. But what he heard had its importance. 

“ I have been more patient than most men,” Had- 
dington was saying. 

“You have no right to speak in that way,” Kate 
protested ; 44 it’s — it’s not respectful.” 

44 Kate, have we not got beyond respect ? ” 

44 1 hope not,” said Sir Roderick to himself. 

44 1 mean,” Haddington went on, 44 there is a point 
at which you must face realities. Kate, do you 
love me ? ” 

Ayre leant forward and peered through the 
bushes. 

44 1 will not break my engagement.” 

44 That is no answer.” 

44 1 can’t help it. I have been taught ” 

44 Oh, taught ! Kate, you know Lane ; you 
know what he is. You saw him with Lady ” 

44 You’re very unkind.” 

44 And for his sake you throw away what I offer?” 

44 Won’t you be patient? ” 

44 Ah, you admit ” 

44 No, I don’t ! ” 

44 But you can’t deny it. Now you make me 
happy.” 

The conversation here became so low in tone that 
Ayre, to his vast disgust, was unable to overhear 
it. The next words that reached his ear came 
again from Haddington. 

100 


STAFFORD AND SIR RODERICK 


“Well, I will wait — I will wait three months. 
If nothing happens then, you will break it off? ” 

A gentle “Yes” floated up to the eavesdropper. 

“ Though why you want him to break it off* 
rather than yourself, I don’t know.” 

“ He doesn’t appreciate her morality,” reflected 
Ayre, with a chuckle. 

“ Kate, we are promised to one another? secretly, 
if you like, but promised ? ” 

“I’m afraid it’s very wrong.” 

“ Why, he deliberately insulted you ! ” 

The tones again became inaudible ; but after a 
pause there came a sound that made Ayre almost 
jump. 

“ By Jove ! ” he whispered in his excitement. 
“Confound these trees! Was it only her hand, 
or ” 

“ Then I have your promise, dear? ” 

“ Yes ; in three months. But I must go in. 
Aunt will be angry.” 

“ You won’t let him win you over ? ” 

“ He has treated me badly; but I don’t want it 
said I jilted him.” 

They had risen by now. 

“ You ask such sl lot of me,” said Haddington. 

“ Ah ! I thought you said you loved me. Can’t 
you wait three months ? ” 

“ I suppose I must. But, Kate, you are sincere 
with me? Tell me you love me.” 

Again Ayre leant forward. They had begun to 
walk away, but now Haddington stopped, and lay- 
ing his hand on Kate’s arm, detained her. “ Say 
you love me,” he said again. 

“ Yes, I love you ! ” said Kate, with commend- 
able confusion, and they resumed their walk. 

101 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ What is her game ? ” Ayre asked himself. 
“ If she means to throw Eugene over, why doesn’t 
she do it right out? I don’t believe she does. 
She’s afraid he’ll throw her over. And, by Jove ! 
she fobbed that fool off again ! W e’re no further 
forward than we were. If he makes trouble about 
this she’ll deny the whole thing. Miss Bernard 
is a lady of talent. But — no, can I ? Yes, I will. 
Rather than let her win, I’ll step in. I’ll go and 
see her to-morrow. We shall neither of us be 
in a position to reproach the other. But I’ll see 
what I can do. But Haddington ! To think she 
should get round him again ! ” 


102 


CHAPTER IX 


THE BATTLE OF BADEN 

Lord Rickmans worth was enjoying himself. 
Over and above the particular pleasures for whose 
sake he had come to Baden, he relished intensely 
the new attitude in which he found himself stand- 
ing toward Ayre. Throughout their previous 
acquaintance it had been Rickmansworth who was 
eager and excited, Ayre who applied the cold 
water. Now the parts were reversed, and the 
younger man found great solace in jocosely rally- 
ing his senior on his unwonted zeal and activity. 
Ayre accepted his friend’s jocosity and his own 
excitement with equal placidity. Reproaches had 
never stirred him to exertion ; ridicule would not 
stop him now. He took leave to add himself to 
the materials for slightly contemptuous amusement 
that the world had hitherto afforded him, and he 
found his own absurd actions a very sensible addi- 
tion to his resources. He realised why people who 
never act on impulse and never do uncalled-for 
things are not only dull to others, but suffer bore- 
dom themselves. However the Millstead love 
affairs affected the principal actors, there can be no 
question that they relieved Sir Roderick Ayre 
from ennui for a considerable number of months 
and exercised a very wholesome effect on a man 
who had come to take pride in his own miserable 
incapacity for honest emotion. 

He rose the next morning as nearly with the 
103 


FATHER STAFFORD 


lark as could reasonably be expected ; more nearly 
with the lark than the domestic staff of the Bad- 
ischerhof at all approved of. Was not Kate Ber- 
nard in the habit of taking the waters at half-past 
seven? And in solitude ! For Haddington’s de- 
votion was not allowed by him to interfere with 
that early ride which is so often a mark of legisla- 
tors, and an assertion, I suppose, of the strain on 
their minds that might be ignored or doubted if 
not backed up by some such evidence. The strain, 
of course, followed Haddington to Baden ; it was 
among his most precious appurtenances ; and Ayre, 
relying upon it, had little doubt that he could suc- 
ceed in finding Kate alone and unprotected. 

He was not deceived. He found Kate just dis- 
posing of her draught, and an offer of his company 
for a stroll was accepted with tolerable gracious- 
ness. Kate distrusted him, but she thought there 
was use in keeping on outwardly good terms ; and 
she had no suspicion of his shameless conduct the 
night before. Ayre directed their walk to the 
very same seat on which she and Haddington had 
sat. As they passed, either romance or laziness 
suggested to Kate that they should sit down. 
Ayre accepted her proposal without demur, asked 
and obtained leave for a cigarette, and sat for a few 
moments in apparent ease and vacancy of mind. 
He was thinking how to begin. 

“ Ought one ever to do evil that good may 
come ? ” he did begin, a long way off. 

“ Dear me, Sir Roderick, what a curious ques- 
tion! I suppose not.” 

“ I’m sorry ; because I did evil last night, and I 
want to confess.” 

“ I really don’t want to hear,” said Kate, in some 
104 


THE BATTLE OF BADEN 


alarm. There’s no telling what men will say when 
they become confidential, and Kate’s propriety was 
a tender plant. 

“ It concerns you.” 

“ Me ? Nonsense ! How can it ? ” 

“ In order to serve a friend, I did a — well — a 
doubtful thing.” 

Kate was puzzled. 

“ You are in a curious mood, Sir Roderick. Do 
you often ask moral counsel ? ” 

“ I am not going to ask it. I am, with your 
kind permission, going to offer it.” 

“ You are going to offer me moral counsel ? ” 

“ I thought of taking that liberty. You see, we 
are old friends.” 

“ We have known one another some time. ” 
Ayre smiled at the implied correction. 

“ Do you object to plain speaking ? ” 

“ That depends on the speaker. If he has a 
right, no ; if not, yes.” 

“ Y ou mean I should have no right ? ” 

“ I certainly don’t see on what ground.” 

“ If not an old friend of yours, as I had hoped 
to be allowed to rank myself, I am, anyhow, a very 
old friend of Eugene’s.” 

“ What has Mr. Lane to do with it ? ” 

“ As an old friend of his ” 

“ Excuse me, Sir Roderick ; you seem to forget 
that Mr. Lane is even more than an old friend to 
me.” 

“ He should be, no doubt,” said Ayre blandly. 

“ I shall not listen to this. No old friendship 
excuses impertinence, Sir Roderick.” 

“ Pray don’t be angry. I have really something 
to say, and — pardon me — you must hear it.” 

105 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ And what if I refuse ? ” 

“ True ; I did wrong to say 4 must.’ You are at 
perfect liberty. Only, if you refuse, Eugene must 
hear it.” 

Kate paused. Then, with a laugh, she said : 

“ Perhaps I am taking it too gravely. What is 
this great thing I must hear ? ” 

“ Ah ! I hoped we could settle it amicably. 
It’s merely this: you must release Eugene from 
his engagement.” 

Kate did not trouble to affect surprise. She 
knew it would be useless. 

“Did he send you to tell me this? ” 

“ You know he didn’t.” 

“ Then whose envoy are you ? Ah ! perhaps 
you are Claudia Territon’s chosen knight ? ” 

“ Not at all,” said Ayre, still unruffled. “ I 
have had no communication with Lady Claudia — 
a fact of which you have no right to affect doubt.” 

“ Then what do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean you must release Eugene.” 

“ Pray tell me why,” asked she calmly, but with 
a calm only obtained after effort. 

“ Because it is not usual — and in this matter it 
seems to me usage is right — it is not usual for a 
young lady to be engaged to two men at once.” 

“ You are merely insolent. I will wish you 
good-morning.” 

“ I am glad you understand my insinuation. 
Explanations are so tedious. Where are you 
going, Miss Bernard ? ” 

“ Home.” 

“ Then I must tell Eugene.” 

“Tell him what you like.” But she sat down 
again. 


106 


THE BATTLE OF BADEN 


“ You are engaged to Eugene ? ” 

“ Of course.” 

“You are also engaged to Spencer Haddington?” 
“ It’s untrue ; you know it’s untrue. Are you 
an old woman, to think a girl can’t speak to a man 
without being engaged to him ? ” 

“ I must congratulate you on your liberality of 
view, Miss Bernard. I had hardly given you credit 
for it. But you know it isn’t untrue. You are 
under a promise to give Haddington your hand 
in three months: not, mark you, a conditional 
promise — an absolute promise.” 

“ That is not a happy guess.” 

“ It’s not a guess at all. No doubt you mean it 
to be conditional. He understood, and you meant 
him to understand, it is an absolute promise.” 

“ How dare you accuse me of such things ? ” 

“ Nothing short of absolute knowledge would so 
far embolden me.” 

“ Absolute knowledge ? ” 

“ Yes, last night.” 

Kate’s rage carried her away. She turned on 
him in fury. 

“ You listened ! ” 

“ Yes, I listened.” 

“ Is that what a gentleman does ? 99 
“ As a rule, it is not.” 

“ I despise you for a mean dastard ! I have no 
more to say to you. ” 

“ Come, Miss Bernard, let us be reasonable. We 
are neither of us blameless.” 

“ Do you think Eugene would listen to such a 
tale ? And such a person ? ” 

“ He might and he might not. But Hadding- 
ton would.” 


107 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ What could you tell him ? ” 

“ I could tell him that you’re making a fool of 
him — keeping him dangling on till you have ar- 
ranged the other affair one way or the other. 
What would he say then ? ” 

Kate knew that Haddington was already tried to 
the uttermost. She knew what he would say. 

“You see I could — if you’ll allow me the met- 
aphor — blow you out of the water.” 

“You daren’t confess how you got the knowl- 
edge.” 

“ Oh, dear me, yes,” said Ayre, smiling. “ When 
you’re opening a blind man’s eyes he doesn’t ask 
after your moral character. You must consider 
the situation on the hypothesis that I am shame- 
less.” 

Kate was not strong enough to carry on the bat- 
tle. She had fury, but not doggedness. She burst 
into tears. 

“ If I were doing all you say, whose fault was 
it ? ” she sobbed. “ Didn’t Eugene treat me shame- 
fully?” 

“ If he flirted a little, it was in part your fault. 
If you had flirted a little with Haddington, I 
should have said nothing. But this — well, this is 
a little strong.” 

“ I am a very unhappy girl,” said Kate. 

“ It isn’t as if you cared twopence for Eugene, 
you know.” 

“No, I hate him ! ” said Kate, unwisely yielding 
to anger again. 

“ I thought so. And you will do what I ask ? ” 

“ If I don’t what will you do ? ” 

“ I shall write to Eugene. I shall see Hadding- 
ton; and I shall see your aunt. I shall tell them 
108 


THE BATTLE OF BADEN 


all that I know, and how I know it. Come, Miss 
Bernard, don’t be foolish. You had better take 
Haddington.” 

“ I know it’s all a plot. You’re all fighting in 
that little creature’s interest.” 

“ Meaning ? ” 

“ Claudia Territon. But if I can help it, Eugene 
shall never marry her.” 

“ That’s another point.” 

“His friend Father Stafford will have to be con- 
sidered there.” 

“ Do not let us drift into that. Will you write ? ” 

“ To whom ?” 

“ To Eugene.” 

Kate looked at him with a healthy hatred. 

“ And you will tell Haddington he needn’t wait 
those three months ? ” 

“ I suppose you’re proud of yourself now ! ” she 
broke out. “ First eavesdropping, and then bully- 
ing a girl ! ” 

“ I’m not at all proud of myself, and I am, if 
you’d believe it, rather sorry for you.” 

“ I shall take care to let your friends know my 
opinion of you.” 

“ Certainly — with any details you think advis- 
able. Have I your promise ? Is it any use strug- 
gling any longer ? This scene is so very unpleas- 
ant.” 

“ Won’t you give me a week ? ” 

“ Not a day ! ” 

Kate drew herself up with a sort of dignity. 

“ I despise you and your schemes, and Eugene 
Lane, and Claudia Territon, and all your crew 1 ” 
she allowed herself to say. 

“ But you promise ? ” 


109 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“Yes, I promise. There! Now, may I go ? 

Ayre courteously took off his hat, and stood on 
one side, holding it in his hand and bowing slightly 
as she swept indignantly by him. 

“I’ll give her a day to tell Haddington, and 
three days to tell Eugene. Unless she does, I 
must go through it all again, and it’s damnably 
fatiguing. She’s not a bad sort — fought well when 
she was cornered. But I couldn’t let Eugene do 
it — I really couldn’t. Ugh ! I’ll go back to break- 
fast.” 

Kate was cowed. She told Haddington. Let 
us pass over that scene. She also wrote to Eugene, 
addressing the letter to Millstead Manor. Eugene 
was not at Millstead Manor; and if Ayre had 
hastily assumed that his fiancee would be in pos- 
session of his address, was it her business to unde- 
ceive him ? She was by no means inclined to do 
one jot more than fulfil the letter of her bond — 
whereby it came to pass that Eugene did not re- 
ceive the letter for nearly two months and did not 
know of his recovered liberty all that time. For 
Haddington, in his joy, easily promised silence for 
a little while ; it seemed only decent ; and even 
Ayre could not refuse to agree with him that, 
though Eugene must be told, nobody else ought to 
be until Eugene had formally signified his assent 
to the lady’s transfer. Ayre could not take upon 
himself, on his friend’s behalf, the responsibility of 
dispensing with this ceremony, though he was sure 
it would be a mere ceremony. 

As for Ayre himself, when his task was done he 
straightway fled from Baden. He was a hardened 
sinner, but he could not face Mrs. Welman. 

It was, however, plainly impossible to confine 
no 


THE BATTLE OF BADEN 


the secret so strictly as to prevent it coming to the 
knowledge of Lord Rickmansworth. Indeed he 
had a right to know the issue, for he had been a 
sharer in the design ; and accordingly, when he also 
left Baden and betook himself to his own house to 
spend what was left of the autumn, he carried 
locked in his heart the news of the fresh develop- 
ment. On the whole, he observed the injunction 
of silence urgently laid upon him by Ayre with 
tolerable faithfulness. But there are limits to these 
things, and it never entered Rickmans worth’s head 
that his sister was included among the persons who 
were to remain in ignorance till the matter was 
finally settled. He met Claudia at the family re- 
union at Territon Park in the beginning of Oc- 
tober, and when she and he and Bob were com- 
fortably seated at dinner together, among the first 
remarks he made — indeed, he was brimming over 
with it — was : 

46 1 suppose you’ve heard the news, Clau ? ” 

What with one thing — packing and unpacking, 
travelling, perhaps less obvious troubles — Lady 
Claudia was in a state which, if it manifested itself 
in a less attractive person, might be called snap- 
pish. 

4 4 1 never hear any news,” she answered shortly. 

“Well, here’s some for you,” replied the Earl, 
grinning. 44 Kate has chucked Eugene over.” 

44 Nonsense ! ” But she started and coloured, all 
the same. 

44 1 suppose you were at Baden and saw it all, 
and I wasn’t ! ” said Rickmansworth, with ponder- 
ous satire. 44 So we won’t say any more about it.” 

44 Well, what do you mean ? ” 

“No; never mind! It doesn’t matter — all a 

XU 


FATHER STAFFORD 


mistake. I’m always making some beastly blun- 
der — eh, Bob? ” and he winked gently at his ap- 
preciative brother. 

“Yes, you’re an ass, of course!” said Bob, en- 
tering into the family humour. 

“ Good thing I’ve got a sister to keep me 
straight ! ” pursued the Earl, who was greatly 
amused with himself. “ Might have gone about 
believing it, you know.” 

Claudia was annoyed. Brothers are annoying at 
times. 

“ I don’t see any fun in that,” she said. 

Lord Rickmans worth drank some beer (beer was 
the Territon drink), and maintained silence. 

The butler came in with his satellite, swept away 
the beer and the other impedimenta , and put on 
dessert. The servants disappeared, but silence still 
reigned unbroken. 

Claudia arose, and went round to her brother’s 
chair. He was ostentatiously busy with a large 
plum. 

“Rick, dear, won’t you tell me ? ” 

“ Tell you ! Why, it’s all nonsense, you know.” 

“ Rick, dear ! ” said Claudia again, with her arm 
round his neck. 

He was going to carry on his jest a little further, 
when he happened to look at her. 

“ Why, Clau, you look as if you were al- 
most ” 

“Never mind that,” she said quickly. “ Oh ! do 
tell me.” 

“ It is quite true. She’s written breaking it off, 
and has accepted Haddington. But it’s a secret, you 
know, till they’ve heard from Eugene, at all events. 
Must hear in a day or two.” 

112 


THE BATTLE OF BADEN 


“Is it really true ? ” 

4 4 Of course it is.” 

Claudia kissed him, and suddenly ran out of the 
room. 

The brothers looked at one another. 

“ I hope that’s all right ? ” said the elder ques- 
tioningly. 

“ I expect so,” answered the younger. “But, 
you see, you don’t quite know where to have 
Eugene.” 

“ I shall know where to have him, if necessary.” 

“You’d better keep your hoof out of it, old 
man,” said Bob candidly. 

Pursuing his train of thought, Rickmansworth 
went on : 

“ Must have been rather a queer game at Mill- 
stead ? ” 

“ Yes. There was Eugene and Kate, and Clau- 
dia and the parson, and old Ayre sticking his long 
nose into it.” 

“ Trust old Ayre for that ; and is it a case ? ” 

“Well, now Kate’s out of it, I expect it is, 
only you don’t know where to have Eugene. And 
there’s the parson.” 

“ Yes ; Ayre told us a bit about him. But she 
doesn’t care for him ? ” 

“She didn’t tell him so — not by any means,” 
said Bob; “ and I bet he’s far gone on her.” 

“ She can’t take him.” 

“ Good Lord ! no.” 

Though how r they proposed to prevent it did not 
appear. 

“ Think Lane’ll write to her ? ” 

“ He ought to, right off.” 

“ Queer girl, ain’t she ? ” 

25 113 


FATHER STAFFORD 


44 Deuced ! ” 

44 Old Ayre ! I say, Bob, you should have seen 
the old sinner at Baden.” 

44 What ? with Kate ? ” 

44 No ; the other business.” 

And they plunged into matters with which we 
need not concern ourselves, and proceeded to rend 
and destroy the character of that most respectable, 
middle-aged gentleman, Sir Roderick Ayre. The 
historian hastens to add that their remarks were, 
as a rule, entirely devoid of truth, with which 
general comment we may leave them. 


114 


CHAPTER X 


MR. MOREWOOD IS MOVED TO INDIGNATION 

When Morewood was at work he painted por- 
traits, and painted them uncommonly well. Of 
course he made his moan at being compelled to 
spend all his time on this work. He was not, 
equally of course, in any way compelled, except in 
the sense that if you want to make a large income 
you must earn it. This is the sense in which many 
people are compelled to do work, which they give 
you to understand it is not the most suited to their 
genius, and it must be admitted that, although 
their words are foolish, not to say insincere, yet 
their deeds are sensible. There can be no mistake 
about the income, and there often is about the 
genius. Morewood, whose eccentricity stopped 
short of his banking account, painted his portraits 
like other people, and only deviated into landscape 
for a month in the summer, with the unfailing re- 
sult of furnishing a crop of Morewoodesque paro- 
dies on Mother Nature that conclusively proved 
the fates were wiser than the painter. 

This year it so chanced that he chose the wilds 
of Exmoor for the scene of his outrages. He set- 
tled down in a small inn and plied his brush busily. 
Of course he did not paint anything that the ordi- 
nary person cared to see, or in the way in which it 
would appear to such person. But he was greatly 
pleased with his work ; and one day, as he threw 
himself down on a bank at noon and got out his 
115 


FATHER STAFFORD 


bread and cheese, he was so carried away, being by 
nature a conceited man, as to exclaim : 

“ My head of Stafford was the best head done 
these hundred years ; and that’s the best bit of 
background done these hundred and fifty ! ” 

The frame of the phrase seemed familiar to him 
as he uttered it, and he had just succeeded in trac- 
ing it back to the putative parentage of Lord V eru- 
lam, when, to his great astonishment, he heard 
Stafford’s voice from the top of the bank, saying : 

“ As I am in your mind already, Mr. Morewood, 
I feel my bodily appearance less of an intrusion on 
your solitude.” 

“ Why, how in the world did you come here ? ” 

The spot was within ten miles of the Retreat, 
and part of Stafford’s treatment for himself con- 
sisted of long walks ; but he only replied : 

“ I am staying near here.” 

“ For health, eh ? ” 

“ Yes — for health.” 

“Well, I’m glad to see you. How are you? 
You don’t look very first-class.” 

Stafford came down the bank without replying, 
and sat down. He was, in spite of it being the 
country and very hot, dressed in his usual black, 
and looked paler and thinner than ever. 

“ Have some lunch ? ” 

Stafford smiled. 

“ There’s only enough for one,” he said. 

“Nonsense, man ! ” 

“No, really ; I never take it.” 

A pause ensued. Stafford seemed to be think- 
ing, while Morewood was undoubtedly eating. 
Presently, however, the latter said : 

“ You left us rather suddenly at Millstead.” 

116 


MU. MOREW OOD 


« Yes.” 

“ Sent for ? ” 

“You of all men know why I went, Mr. More- 
wood.” 

“ If you don’t mind my admitting it, I do. But 
most people are so thin-skinned.” 

“I am not thin-skinned — not in that way. Of 
course you know. You told me.” 

“ That head ? ” 

“Yes; you did me a service.” 

“ W ell, I think I did, and I’m glad to hear you 
say so.” 

“Why?” 

“ Shows you’ve come to your senses,” said More- 
wood, rapidly recovering from his lapse into civil- 
ity. 

Stafford seemed willing, even anxious, to pursue 
the subject. The regimen at the Retreat was no 
doubt severe. 

“ What do you mean by coming to my senses ? ” 

“ Why, doing what any man does when he finds 
he’s in love — barring a sound reason against it.” 

“ And that is ? ” 

“ Try his luck. You needn’t look at me. I’ve 
tried my luck before now, and it was damned bad 
luck. So here I am, a musty old curmudgeon ; and 
there’s Ayre, a snarling old cur ! ” 

“ I don’t bore you about it ? ” 

“No, I like jawing.” 

“ W ell then, I was going to say, of course you 
don’t know how it struck me.” 

“Yes, I do, but I don’t think any the better of 
it for that.” 

“You knew about my vow? I suppose you 
think that ? ” 


117 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ Bosh ? Yes, I do. I think all vows bosh ; but 
without asking you to agree to that, though I think 
I did ask the Bishop of Bellminster to, I do say this 
one is utter bosh. Why, your own people say so, 
don’t they ? ” 

“ My own people ? The people I suppose you 
mean don’t say so. I took a vow never to marry — 
there were even more stringent terms — but that’s 
enough.” 

“ Well?” 

“ A vow,” continued Stafford, “ that you won’t 
marry till you want to is not the same as a vow 
never to marry.” 

“No. I think I could manage the first sort.” 

“The first sort,” said Stafford, with a smile, “is 
nowadays a popular compromise.” 

“I detest compromises. That’s why I liked 
you.” 

“You’re advising me to make one now.” 

“No, I advise you to throw up the whole 
thing.” 

“ That’s because you don’t believe in anything?” 

“Yes, probably.” 

“ Suppose you believed all I believe and had 
done all I had?” 

“ How do you mean ? ” 

“You believed what a priest believes — in heaven 
and hell — the gaining God and the losing him — in 
good and evil. Supposing you, believing this, had 
given your life to God, and made your vow to him 
— had so proclaimed before men, had so lived and 
worked and striven ! Supposing you thought a 
broken vow was death to your own soul and a trap 
to the souls of others — a baseness, a treason, a de- 
sertion — more cowardly than a soldier’s flight — as 


MR MOREWOOD 


base as a thief’s purloining — meaning to you and 
those who had trusted you the death of good and 
the triumph of evil ? ” 

He sat still, but his voice was raised in rapid and 
intense utterance; he gazed before him with start- 
ing eyes. 

“All that,” he went on, “it meant to me — all 
that and more — the triumph of the beast in me — 
passion and desire rampant — man forsaken and 
God betrayed — my peace forever gone, my honour 
forever stained. Can’t you see? Can’t you see ? ” 

Morewood rose and paced up and down. 

“ Now — now can you judge ? You say you knew 
— did you know that ? ” 

“Do you still believe all that? ” 

“Yes, all, and more than all. For a moment — 
a day — perhaps a week, I drove myself to doubt. 
X tried to doubt. I rejoiced in it. But I cannot. 
As God is above us, I believe all that.” 

“ If you break this vow you think you will 
be ?” 

“ The creature I have said? Yes — and worse.” 

“ I think the vow utter nonsense,” said More- 
wood again. 

“ But if you thought as I think, then would your 
love — yes, and would a girl’s heart, weigh with 
you ? ” 

Morewood stood still. 

“ I can hardly realise it,” he said, “ in a man of 
your brain. But ” 

“ Yes?” said Stafford, looking at him almost as if 
he were amused, for his sudden outburst had left 
him quite calm. 

“ If I believed that, I’d cut off my hand rather 
than break the vow.” 


119 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ I knew it ! ” cried Stafford, “ I knew it ! ” 

Morewood was touched with pity. 

“ If you’re right,” he said, “ it won’t be so hard 
to you. You’ll get over it.” 

“ Get over it ? ” 

“Yes; what you believe will help you. You’ve 
no choice, you know.” 

Stafford still wore a look of half-amusement. 

“ You have never felt belief? ” he asked. 

“ Not for many years. That’s all gone.” 

“ Y ou think you have been in love ? ” 

“ Of course I have — half a dozen times.” 

“No more than the other,” said Stafford decis- 
ively. 

Morewood was about to speak, but Stafford went 
on quickly : 

“ I have told you what belief is — I could tell you 
what love is ; you know no more the one than the 
other. But why should I ? I doubt if you would 
understand. You think you couldn’t be shocked. 
I should shock you. Let it be. I think 1 could 
charm you, too. Let that be.” 

A pause followed. Stafford still sat motionless, 
but his face gradually changed from its stern aspect 
to the look that Morewood had once caught on his 
canvas. 

“ You’re in love with her still ? ” he exclaimed. 

“ Still?” 

“ Yes. Haven’t you conquered it ? I’m a poor 
hand at preaching, but, by Jove ! if I thought like 
you, I’d never think of the girl again.” 

“ I mean to marry her,” said Stafford quietly. 
“ I have chosen.” 

Morewood was in very truth shocked. But 
Stafford’s morals, after all, were not his care. 

120 


MR. MOREWOOD 


“ Perhaps she won’t have you,” he suggested at 
last, as though it were a happy solution. 

Stafford laughed outright. 

“Then I could go back to my priesthood, I 
suppose ? ” 

44 Well — after a time.” 

“ As a burglar who is caught before his robbery 
goes back to his trade. As if it made the smallest 
difference — as if the result mattered ! ” 

44 I suppose you are right there.” 

“ Of course. But she will have me.” 

44 Do you think so? ” 

“ I don’t doubt it. If I doubted it, I should 
die.” 

44 I doubt it.” 

44 Pardon me ; I dare say you do.” 

44 You don’t want to talk about that? ” 

4 4 It isn’t worth while. I no more doubt it than 
that the sun shines. Well, Mr. Morewood, I am 
obliged to you for hearing me out. I had a curi- 
osity to see how my resolution struck you.” 

“ If you have told me the truth, it strikes me as 
devilish. I’m no saint ; but if a man believes in 
good, as you do, by God, he oughtn’t to trample it 
underfoot ! ” 

Stafford took no notice of him. He rose and 
held out his hand. 44 I’m going back to London 
to-morrow,” he said, 44 to wait till she comes.” 

“God help you !” said Morewood, with a sud- 
den impulse. 

44 1 have no more to do with God,” said Staf- 
ford. 

44 Then the devil help you, if you rely on him ! ” 

44 Don’t be angry,” he said, with a swift return 
of his old sweet smile. 44 In old days I should 
121 


FATHER STAFFORD 


have liked your indignation. I still like you for it. 
But I have made my choice.” 

“ ‘ Evil, be thou my good.’ Is that it ? ” 

“Yes, if you like. Why talk about it any 
more? It is done.” 

He turned and walked away, leaving Morewood 
alone to finish his forgotten lunch. 

He could not get the thought of the man out of 
his mind all day. It was with him as he worked, 
and with him when he sat after dinner in the par- 
lour of his little inn, with his pipe and whiskey and 
water. He was so full of Stafford that he could 
not resist the impulse to tell somebody else, and at 
last he took a sheet of paper. 

“ 1 don’t know if he’s in town,” he said, “ but I’ll 
chance it ; ” and he began : 

Dear Ayre : 

By chance down here I met the parson. He is mad. He 
painted for me the passion of belief — which he said I hadn’t 
and implied I couldn’t feel. He threatened to paint the pas- 
sion of love, with the same assertion and the same implication. 
He is convinced that if he breaks his vow (you remember it, of 
course) he’ll be worse than Satan. Yet his face is set to break 
it. You probably can’t help it, and wouldn’t if you could, for 
you haven’t heard him. He’s going to London. Stop him if 
you can before he gets to Claudia Terri ton. I tell you his state 
of mind is hideous. 

Yours, 

A. Morewood. 

This somewhat incoherent letter reached Sir 
Roderick Ayre as he passed through London, and 
tarried a day or two in early October. He opened 
it, read it, and put it down on the breakfast-table. 
Then he read it again, and ejaculated : 

“ Talk about madness ! Why, because Staf- 
122 


MR. MOREWOOD 


ford’s mad — if he is mad — must our friend the 
painter go mad too? Not that I see he is mad. 
He’s only been stirring up old Morewood’s dor- 
mant piety.” 

He lit his cigar, and sat pondering the letter. 

44 Shall I try to stop him ? If Claudia and Eu- 
gene have fixed up things it would be charitable to 
prevent him making a fool of himself. Why the 
deuce haven’t I heard anything from that young 
rascal ? Hullo ! who’s that ? ” 

He heard a voice outside, and the next moment 
Eugene himself rushed in. 

“ Here you are !” he said. “Thought I should 
find you. You can’t keep away from this dirty 
old town.” 

44 Where do you spring from ? ” asked Ayre. 

44 Liverpool. I found the Continent slow, so I 
went to America. Nothing moving there, so I 
came back here. Can you give me breakfast ? ” 

Ayre rang the bell, and ordered a new break- 
fast ; as he did so he took up Morewood’s letter 
and put it in his pocket. 

Eugene went on talking with gay affectation 
about his American experiences. Only when he 
was through his breakfast did he approach home 
topics. 

44 Well, how’s everybody?” 

Ayre waited for a more definite question. 

4 4 Seen the Territons lately ? ” 

44 Not very. Haven’t you? ” 

44 No. They weren’t over there, you know. 
Are they alive ? ” 

44 My young friend, are you trying to deceive 
me? You have heard from at least one of them, 
if you haven’t seen them.” 

123 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“I haven’t — not a line. We don’t correspond: 

not comine ilfaut .” 

“ Oh, you haven’t written to Claudia ? ” 

“ Of course not.” 

“ Why not? ” 

« Why should I?” 

“Let us go back to the previous question. 
Have you heard from Miss Bernard ? ” 

“ Why probe my wounds? Not a single line.” 

“ Confound her impudence ! she never wrote ! ” 

“ I don’t know why she should. But in case 
see ought, I’m bound to say she couldn’t.” 

“ Why not? She said she would; she said so to 
me.” 

“ She couldn’t have said so. You must have 
misunderstood her. I left no address, you know ; 
and I had no difficulty in eluding interviewers — 
not being a prize-fighter or a minor poet.” 

Sir Roderick smiled. 

“ Gad ! I never thought of that. She held me, 
after all.” 

“ What on earth are you driving at ? ” 

“If there’s one thing I hate more than another, 
it’s a narrative ; but I see I’m in for it. Sit still 
and hold your tongue till I’m through with it.” 

Eugene obeyed implicitly ; and Ayre, not with- 
out honest pride, recounted his Baden triumph. 

“And unless she’s bolder than I think, you’ll 
find a letter to that effect.” 

Eugene sat very quiet. 

“Well, you don’t seem overpleased, after all. 
Wasn’t I right? ” 

“ Quite right, old fellow. But, I say, is she in 
love with Haddington? ” 

“ Ah, there’s your beastly vanity ? I think she 
124 


MR. MOREWOOD 

is rather, you know, or she’d never have given her- 
self away so.” 

“ Rum taste ! ” said Eugene, whose relief at his 
freedom was tempered by annoyance at Kate’s 
insensibility. 44 But I’m awfully obliged. And, 
by Jove, Ayre, it’s new life to me ! ” 

44 I thought so.” 

Eugene had got over his annoyance. A sudden 
thought seemed to strike him. 

“ I say, does Claudia know? ” 

“ Rickmansworth’s sure to have told her on the 
spot. She must have known it a month ; and what’s 
more, she must think you’ve known it a month.” 

“ Inference that the sooner I show up the 
better.” 

“ Exactly. What, are you off now ? Do you 
know where she is ? ” 

“ I shall send a wire to Territon Park. Rick’s 
sure to be there if she isn’t, and I’ll go down and 
find out about it.” 

“Wait a minute, will you? Have you heard 
from your friend Stafford lately ? ” 

A shadow fell on Eugene’s face. 

“No. But that’s over. Must be, or he’d never 
have bolted from Millstead.” 

Ayre was silent a moment. Morewood’s letter 
told him that Stafford had set out to go to Claudia. 
What if he and Eugene met? Ayre had not 
much faith in the power of friendship under such 
circumstances. 

“I think, on the whole, that I’d better show 
you a letter I’ve had,” he said. “Mind you, I 
take no responsibility for what you do.” 

“Nobody wants you to,” said Eugene, with a 
smile. 4 4 We all understand that’s your position.” 

125 


FATHER STAFFORD 


Ayre flung the letter over to him and he read it. 

“ Oh, by Jove, this is the devil ! ” he exclaimed, 
jumping off the writing-table, where he had seated 
himself. 

“So Morewood seems to think.” 

“ Poor old fellow ! I say, what shall I do ? 
Poor old Stafford ! Fancy his cutting up like 
this.” 

“ It’s kind of you to pity him.” 

“ What do you mean ? I say, Ayre, you don’t 
think there is anything in it? ” 

“ Anything in it ? ” 

“You don’t think there’s any chance that Clau- 
dia likes him? ” 

“ Haven’t an idea one w r ay or the other,” said 
Ayre rather disingenuously. 

Eugene looked very perturbed. 

“You see,” continued Ayre, “it’s pretty cool of 
you to assume the girl is in love with you when 
she knew you were engaged to somebody else up 
to a month ago.” 

“Oh, damn it, yes!” groaned Eugene; “but 
she knew old Stafford had sworn not to marry 
anybody.” 

“ And she knew — of course she knew — you both 
wanted to marry her. I wonder what she thought 
of both of you ! ” 

“She never had any idea of the sort about him. 
About me she may have had an inkling.” 

“Just an inkling, perhaps,” assented Sir Roder- 
ick. 

“ The worst of it is, you know, if she does like 
me, I shall feel a brute, cutting in now. Old 
Stafford knew I was engaged too, you know.” 

“It all serves you right,” observed Ayre corn- 
126 


MR MOREWOOD 


fortingly. “ If you must get engaged at all, why 
the deuce couldn’t you pick the right girl ? ” 

44 Fact is, I don’t show up over well.” 

44 You don’t; that is a fact.” 

“ Ayre, I think I ought to let him have his shot 
first.” 

44 Bosh ! why, as like as not she’d take him ! If 
it struck her that he was chucking away his im- 
mortal soul and all that for her sake, as like as not 
she’d take him. Depend upon it, Eugene, once 
she caught the idea of romantic sin, she’d be gone 
— no girl could stand up against it.” 

44 It is rather the sort of thing to catch Claudia’s 
fancy.” 

44 You cut in, my boy,” continued Ayre. “Friend- 
ship’s all very well ” 

“Yes, ‘save in the office and affairs of love’!” 
quoted Eugene, with a smile of scorn at him- 
self. 

44 Well, you’d better make up your mind, and 
don’t mount stilts.” 

44 I’ll go down and look round. But I can’t ask 
her without telling her or letting him tell her.” 

44 Pooh ! she knows.” 

44 She doesn’t, I tell you.” 

“Then she ought to. You’re a nice fellow! I 
slave and eavesdrop for you, and now you won’t 
do the rest yourself. What the deuce do you all 
see in that parson ? If I were your age, and thought 
Claudia Territon would have me, it would take a 
lot of parsons to put me on one side.” 

“ Poor old Charlie ! ” said Eugene again. 44 Ayre, 
he shall have his shot.” 

44 Meanwhile, the girl’s wondering if you mean 
to throw her over. She’s expected to hear from you 
127 


FATHER STAFFORD 


this last month. I tell you what : I expect Rick’ll 
kick you when you do turn up.” 

“ Well, I shall go down and try to see her: when 
I get there I must be guided by circumstances.” 

“ Very good. I expect the circumstances will 
turn out to be such that you’ll make love to Clau- 
dia and forget all about Stafford. If you don’t ” 

“ What ? ” 

“You’re an infernally cold-blooded conscientious 
young ruffian, and I never took you for that be- 
fore ! ” 

And Ayre, more perturbed about other people’s 
affairs than a man of his creed had any business to 
be, returned to the Times as Eugene went to pur- 
sue his errand. 


128 


CHAPTER XI 


WAITING LADY CLAUDIA’S PLEASURE 

Stafford had probably painted his state of mind 
in colours somewhat more startling than the reality 
warranted. When a man is going to act against 
his conscience, there is a sort of comfort in making 
out that the crime has features of more striking de- 
pravity than an unbiassed observer would detect ; 
the inclination in this direction is increased when 
it is a question of impressing others. Sin seems 
commonplace if we give it no pomp and circurm 
stance. No man was more free than Stafford from 
any conscious hypocrisy or posing, or from the in- 
verted pride in immorality that is often an affecta- 
tion, but also, more often than we are willing to 
allow, a real disease of the mind. But in his inter- 
view with Morewood he had yielded to the tempta- 
tion of giving a more dramatic setting and stronger 
contrasts to his conviction and his action than the 
actual inmost movement of his mind justified. It 
was true that he was determined to set action and 
conviction in sharp antagonism, and to follow an 
overpowering passion rather than a belief that he 
depicted as no less dominant. Had his fierce words 
to Morewood reproduced exactly what he felt, it 
may be doubted whether the resultant of two forces 
so opposite and so equal could have been the ulti- 
mately unwavering intention that now possessed 
him. In truth, the aggressive strength of his be- 
lief had been sapped from within. His efforts after 
26 129 


FATHER STAFFORD 


doubt, described by himself as entirely unsuccessful, 
had not in reality been without result. They had 
not issued in any radical or wholesale alteration of 
his views. He was right in supposing that he 
would still have given as full intellectual assent to 
all the dogmas of his creed as formerly ; the balance 
of probability was still in his view overwhelmingly 
in their favour. But it had come to be a balance 
of probability — not, of course, in the way in which 
a man balances one account of an ordinary transac- 
tion against another, and decides out of his own 
experience of how things happen — Stafford had not 
lost his mental discrimination so completely — but 
in the sense that he had appealed to reason, and 
thus admitted the jurisdiction of reason in matters 
which he had formerly proclaimed as outside the 
province of that sort of reasoning that governs other 
intellectual questions. In the result, he was left 
under the influence of a persuasion, not under the 
dominion of a command ; and the former failed to 
withstand an assault that the latter might well have 
enabled him to repulse. He found himself able to 
forget what he believed, though not to disbelieve 
it ; his convictions could be postponed, though not 
expelled ; and in representing his mind as the pres- 
ent battle-ground of equal and opposite forces, he 
had rather expressed what a preacher would reveal 
as the inner truth of his struggle than what he was 
himself conscious of as going on within him. It is 
likely enough that his previous experience had 
made him describe his own condition rather in the 
rhetoric of the pulpit than in the duller language 
of a psychological narrative. He had certainly 
given Morewood one false impression, or rather, 
perhaps, Morewood had drawn one false though 


WAITING CLAUDIA’S PLEASURE 


natural inference for himself. He thought of Staf- 
ford, and his letter passed on the same view to Eu- 
gene, as of a man suffering tortures that passed en- 
during. Perhaps at the moment of their interview 
such was the case : the dramatic picture Stafford 
had drawn had for the moment terrified afresh the 
man who drew it. His normal state of mind, how- 
ever, at this time was not unhappy. He was 
wretched now and then by effort ; he was tortured 
by the sense of sin when he remembered to be. 
But for the most part he was too completely con- 
quered by his passion to do other than rejoice in it. 
Possessed wholly by it, and full of an undoubting 
confidence that Claudia returned his love, or needed 
only to realise it fully to return it fully, he had si- 
lenced all opposition, and went forth to his wooing 
with an exultation and a triumph that no transitory 
self-judgments could greatly diminish. Life lay 
before him, long and full and rich and sweet. Let 
trouble be what it would, and right be what it 
might, life and love were in his own hands. The 
picture of a man giving up all he thought worth 
having, driven in misery by a force he could not re- 
sist to seek a remedy that he despaired of gaining — 
a remedy wdiich, even if gained, would bring him 
nothing but fresh pain — this picture, over which 
Eugene was mourning in honest and perplexed 
friendship, never took form as a true presentment 
of himself to the man it was supposed to embody. 
If Eugene had known this, he would probably have 
felt less sympathy and more rivalry, and would have 
assented to Ayres view of the situation rather than 
doubtingly maintained his own. A man may some- 
times change himself more easily than he can per- 
suade his friends to recognise the change. 


FATHER STAFFORD 


Stafford left the Retreat the morning after his 
meeting with Morewood, feeling, he confessed to 
himself, as if he had taken a somewhat unfair ad- 
vantage of its hospitality. The result of his 
sojourn there, if known to the Founder, might have 
been a trial of that enthusiasts consistency to his 
principles, and Stafford was glad to be allowed to 
depart, as he had come, unquestioned. He came 
straight to London, and turned at once to the 
task of finding Claudia as soon as he could. The 
most likely quarter for information was, he 
thought, Eugene Lane or his mother ; and on the 
afternoon of his arrival in town — on the same day, 
that is, as Eugene had surprised Sir Roderick at 
breakfast — he knocked at the door of Eugene’s 
house in Upper Berkeley Street, and inquired if 
Eugene were at home. The man told him that 
Mr. Lane had returned only that morning, from 
America, he believed, and had left the house an 
hour ago, on his way to Territon Park ; he added 
that he believed Mr. Lane had received a telegram 
from Lord Rickmansworth inviting him to go 
down. Mrs. Lane was at Millstead Manor. 

Stafford was annoyed at missing Eugene, but 
not surprised or disturbed to hear of his visit to 
Territon Park. Eugene did not strike him as a 
possible rival. It may be doubted whether in his 
present frame of mind he would have looked on 
any man’s rivalry as dangerous, but of course he 
was entirely ignorant of the new development of 
affairs, and supposed Eugene to be still the affi- 
anced husband of Miss Bernard. The only way 
the news affected him was by dispelling the slight 
hope he had entertained of finding that Claudia 
had already returned to London. 

132 


WAITING CLAUDIA’S PLEASURE 

He went back to his hotel, wrote a single line to 
Eugene, asking him to tell him Claudia’s address, 
if he knew it, and then went for a walk in the 
Park to pass the restless hours away. It was a 
dull evening, and the earliest of the fogs had settled 
on the devoted city. A small drizzle of rain and 
the thickening blackness had cleared the place of 
saunterers, and Stafford, who prolonged his walk, 
apparently unconscious of his surroundings, had the 
dreary path by the Serpentine nearly to himself. 
As the fog grew denser and night fell, the spot 
became a desert, and its chill gloom began to be 
burdensome even to his prepossessed mind. He 
stopped and gazed as far as the mist let him over 
the water, which lay smooth and motionless, like a 
sheet of opaque glass; the opposite bank was 
shrouded from his view, and imagination allowed 
him to think himself standing on the shore of some 
almost boundless lake. Seen under such condi- 
tions, the Serpentine put off the cheerful vulgarity 
of its everyday aspect, and exercised over the spirit 
of the watcher the same fascination as a mountain 
tarn or some deep, quick-flowing stream. “ Come 
hither and be at rest,” it seemed to whisper, and 
Stafford, responsive to the subtle invitation, for a 
moment felt as if to die in the thought of his mis- 
tress would be as sweet as to live in her presence, 
and, it might be, less perilous. At least he could 
be quiet there. His mind travelled back to a by- 
gone incident of his parochial life, when he had 
found a wretched shop-boy crouching by the 
water’s edge, and trying to screw his courage up 
for the final plunge. It was a sordid little tragedy 
— an honest lad was caught in the toils of some 
slatternly Jezebel ; she had made him steal for her, 
133 


FATHER STAFFORD 


had spent his spoil, and then deserted him for his 
“ pal ” — his own familiar friend. Adrift on the 
world, beggared in character and fortune, and sore 
to the heart, he had wandered to the edge of the 
water, and listened to its low-voiced promises of 
peace. Stafford had stretched forth his hand to 
pluck him from his doom and set him on his feet ; 
he prevailed on the lad to go home in his com- 
pany, and the course of a few days proved once 
again that despair may be no more enduring than 
delight. The incident had almost faded from his 
memory, but it revived now as he stood and looked 
on the water, and he recognised with a start the 
depths to which he was in danger of falling. The 
invitation of the water could not draw him to it 
till he knew Claudia’s will. But if she failed him, 
was not that the only thing left ? His desire had 
swallowed up his life, and seemed to point to death 
as the only alternative to its own satisfaction. He 
contemplated this conclusion, not with the personal 
interest of a man who thought he might be called 
to act upon it, — Claudia would rescue him from 
that, — but with a theoretical certainty that if by 
any chance the staff on which he leant should 
break, he would be in no other mind than that 
from which he had rescued his miserable shop-boy. 
Death for love’s sake was held up in poetry and 
romance as a thing in some sort noble and honour- 
able ; as a man might die because he could not 
save his country, so might he because he could not 
please his lady-love. In old days, Stafford, rigidly 
repressing his aesthetic delight in such literature, 
had condemned its teaching with half- angry con- 
tempt, and enough of his former estimate of things 
remained to him to prevent him regarding such a 
134 


WAITING CLAUDIA’S PLEASURE 


state of mind as it pictured as a romantic elevation 
rather than a hopeless degradation of a man’s be- 
ing. But although he still condemned, now he 
understood, if not the defence of such an attitude, 
at least the existence of it. He might still think 
it a folly ; it no longer appeared a figment. A sin 
it was, no doubt, and a degradation, but not an 
enormity or an absurdity ; and when he tried again 
to fancy his life without Claudia, he struggled in 
vain against the growing conviction that the pict- 
ures he had condemned as caricatures of humanity 
had truth in them, and that it might be his part to 
prove it. 

With a shiver he turned away. Such imaginings 
were not good for a man, nor the place that bred 
them. He took the shortest cut that led out of 
the Park and back to the streets, where he found 
lights and people, and his thoughts, sensitive to the 
atmosphere round him, took a brighter hue. Why 
should he trouble himself with what he would do 
if he were deceived in Claudia ? He knew her too 
well to doubt her. He had pushed aside all obsta- 
cles to seek her, and she would fly to meet him ; 
and he smiled at himself for conjuring up fantasies 
of impossible misfortune, only to enjoy the solace 
of laying them again with the sweet confidence of 
love. He passed the evening in the contemplation 
of his happiness, awaiting Eugene’s reply to his 
note with impatience, but without disquiet. 

This same letter was, however, the cause of very 
serious disquiet to the recipient, more especially as 
it came upon the top of another troublesome oc- 
currence. Rickmansworth had welcomed Eugene 
to Territon Park with his usual good-nature and 
his usual absence of effusion. In fact, he tele- 
135 


FATHER STAFFORD 


graphed that Eugene could come if he liked, but 
he, Rickmansworth, thought he’d find it beastly 
slow. Eugene went, but found, to his dismay, that 
Claudia was not there. Some mystery hung over 
her non-appearance ; but he learned from Bob that 
her departure had been quite impromptu, — de- 
cided upon, in fact, after his telegram was re- 
ceived, — and that she was staying some five miles 
off, at the Dower House, with her aunt, Lady 
Julia, who occupied that residence. 

Eugene was much annoyed and rather uneasy. 

“ It looks as if she didn’t want to see me,” he 
said to Bob. 

“ It does, almost,” replied Bob cheerfully. “ Per- 
haps she don’t.” 

“ Well, I’ll go over and call to-morrow.” 

“ You can if you like. I should let her alone.” 

Very likely Bob’s words were the words of wis- 
dom, but when did a lover — even a tolerably cool- 
headed lover like Eugene — ever listen to the words 
of wisdom ? He went to bed in a bad temper. 
Then in the morning came Stafford’s letter, and of 
course Eugene had no kind of doubt as to the 
meaning of it. Now, it had been all very well to 
be magnanimous and propose to give his friend a 
chance when he thought the pear was only waiting 
to drop into his hand ; magnanimity appeared at 
once safe and desirable, and there was no strong 
motive to counteract Eugene’s love for Stafford. 
Matters were rather different when it appeared that 
the pear was not waiting to drop — when, on the 
contrary, the pear had pointedly removed itself 
from the hand of the plucker, and seemed, if one 
may vary the metaphor, to have turned into a 
prickly pear. Eugene still believed that Claudia 
136 


WAITING CLAUDIA’S PLEASURE 

loved him ; but he saw that she was stung by his 
apparent neglect, and perhaps still more by the 
idea that in his view he had only to ask at any time 
in order to have. When ladies gather that im- 
pression, they think it due to their self-respect to 
make themselves very unpleasant, and Eugene did 
not feel sure how far this feeling might not carry 
Claudia’s quick, fiery nature, more especially if she 
were offered a chance of punishing Eugene by ac- 
cepting a suitor who was in many ways an object 
of her admiration and regard, and came to her with 
an indubitable halo of romance about him. Eu- 
gene felt that his consideration for Stafford might, 
perhaps, turn out to be more than a graceful tribute 
to friendship ; it might mean a real sacrifice, a sac- 
rifice of immense gravity ; and he did what most 
people would do — he reconsidered the situation. 

The matter was not, to his thinking, complica- 
ted by anything approaching to an implied pledge 
on his part. Of course Stafford had not looked 
upon him as a possible rival; his engagement to 
Kate Bernard had seemed to put him hors de com- 
bat . But he had been equally entitled to regard 
Stafford as out of the running ; for surely Stafford’s 
vow was as binding as his promise. They stood on 
an equality : neither could reproach the other — that 
is to say, each had matter of reproach against the 
other, but his mouth was closed. There was then 
only friendship — only the old bond that nothing 
was to come between them. Did this bond carry 
with it the obligation of standing on one side in 
such a case as this ? Moreover, time was precious. 
If he failed to seek out Claudia that very day, she, 
knowing he was at Territon Park, would be justly 
aggrieved by a new proof of indifference or disre- 
137 


FATHER STAFFORD 


spect. And yet, if he were to wait for Stafford, 
that day must go by without his visit. Eugene 
had hitherto lived pleasantly by means of never 
asking too much of himself, and in consequence 
being always tolerably equal to his own demands 
upon himself. Quixotism was not to be expected 
of him. A nice observance of honour was as much 
as he would be likely to attain to ; and friendship 
would be satisfied if he gave the doubtful points 
against himself. 

He sat down after breakfast, and wrote a long 
letter to Stafford. 

After touching very lightly on Stafford’s posi- 
tion, and disclaiming not only any right to judge, 
but also any inclination to blame, he went on to 
tell in some detail the change that had occurred in 
his own situation, avowed his intention of gaining 
Claudia’s hand if he could, clearly implied his 
knowledge that Stafford’s heart was set on the 
same object, and ended with a warm declaration 
that the rivalry between them did not and should 
not alter his love, and that, if unsuccessful, he could 
desire to be beaten by no other man than Stafford. 
He added more words of friendship, told Stafford 
that he should try his luck as soon as might be, 
and that he had Rickmansworth’s authority to tell 
him that, if he saw proper to come down for the 
same purpose, his coming would not be regarded 
as an intrusion by the master of the house. 

Then he went and obtained the authority he had 
pledged, and sent his servant up to London with 
the letter, with instructions to deliver it instantly 
into Stafford’s own hand. His distrust in the in- 
tegrity of the postmaster’s daughter in such a mat- 
ter prevented his sending any further message by 
138 


WAITING CLAUDIA’S PLEASURE 

the wires than one requesting Stafford to be at home 
to receive his letter between twelve and one, when 
his messenger might be expected to arrive. 

With a conscience clear enough for all practical 
purposes, he then mounted his horse, rode over to 
the Dower House, and sent in his card to Lady 
Julia Territon. Lady Julia was probably well 
posted up; at any rate, she received him with 
kindness and without surprise, and, after the proper 
amount of conversation, told him she believed he 
would find Claudia in the morning-room. Would 
he stay to lunch ? and would he excuse her if she 
returned to her occupations ? Eugene prevaricated 
about the lunch, for the invitation was obviously, 
though tacitly, a contingent one, and conceded the 
lady’s excuses with as respectable a show of sincer- 
ity as was to be expected. Then he turned his 
steps to the morning-room, declining announce- 
ment, and knocked at the door. 

“ Oh, come in,” said Claudia, in a tone that 
clearly implied, “ if you won’t let me alone and stay 
outside.” 

“Perhaps she doesn’t know who it is,” thought 
Eugene, trying to comfort himself as he opened 
the door. 


139 


CHAPTER XII 


LADY CLAUDIA IS VEXED WITH MANKIND 

Of course she knew who it was, and her uninviting 
tone was a result of her knowledge. We are yet 
awaiting a systematic treatise on the psychology 
of women ; perhaps they will some day be trained 
highly enough to analyse themselves. Until this 
happens, we must wait; for no man unites the ex- 
perience and the temperament necessary. This 
could be proved, if proof were required ; but, hap- 
pily, proof of assertions is not always required, and 
proof of this one would lead us into a long digres- 
sion, bristling with disputable matter, and requir- 
ing perhaps hardly less rare qualities than the task 
of writing the treatise itself. The modest scribe is 
reduced to telling how Claudia behaved, without 
pretending to tell why she behaved so, far less at- 
tempting to group her under a general law. He 
is comforted in thus taking a lower place by the 
thought that after all nobody likes being grouped 
under general laws — it is more interesting to be 
peculiar — and that Claudia would have regarded 
such an attempt with keen indignation ; and by the 
further thought that if you once start on general 
laws, there’s no telling where you will stop. The 
moment you get yours nicely formulated, your 
neighbour comes along with a wider one, and re- 
duces it to a subordinate proposition, or even to 
the humiliating status of a mere example. Now 
even philosophers lose their temper when this oc- 
140 


CLAUDIA IS VEXED WITH MANKIND 


curs, while ordinary mortals resort to abuse. These 
dangers and temptations may be conscientiously, 
and shall be scrupulously, avoided. 

Eugene advanced into the room with all the as- 
surance he could muster ; he could muster a good 
deal, but he felt he needed it every bit, for Claudia’s 
aspect was not conciliatory. She greeted him with 
civility, and in reply to his remark that being in 
the neighbourhood he thought he might as well 
call, expressed her gratification and hinted her sur- 
prise at his remembering to do so. She then sat 
down, and for ten minutes by the clock talked 
fluently and resolutely about an extraordinary 
variety of totally uninteresting things. Eugene 
used this breathing-space to recover himself. He 
said nothing, or next to nothing, but waited pa- 
tiently for Claudia to run down. She struggled 
desperately against exhaustion ; but at last she 
could not avoid a pause. Eugene’s generalship had 
foreseen that this opening was inevitable. Like 
Fabius he waited, and like Fabius he struck. 

44 I have been so completely out of the world — 
out of my own world — for the last month that I 
know nothing. Didn’t even have my letters sent 
on.” 

44 Fancy ! ” said Lady Claudia. 

44 I wish I had now.” 

Claudia was meant to say 44 Why ? ” She didn’t, 
so he had to make the connection for himself. 

4 4 1 found one letter waiting for me that was 
most important.” 

44 Yes ?” said Claudia, with polite but obviously 
fatigued interest. 

44 It was from Miss Bernard. ” 

44 Fancy not having her letters sent on ! ” 

141 


FATHER STAFFORD 

“You know what was in that letter, Lady 
Claudia ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; Rickmansworth told me. I don’t 
know if he ought to have. I am so very sorry, 
Mr. Lane.” 

“ From not getting the letter, I didn’t know for a 
month that I was free. I needn’t shrink from call- 
ing it freedom.” 

“ As you were in America, it couldn’t make 
much difference whether you knew or not. ” 

“ I want you to know that I didn’t know.” 

“ Really you are very kind.” 

“ I was afraid you would think ” 

“Pray, what?” asked Claudia, in suspiciously 
calm tones. 

Eugene was conscious he was not putting it in 
the happiest possible way ; however, there was 
nothing for it but to go on now. 

“Why, that — why, Claudia, that I shouldn’t 
rush to you the moment I was free. 

Claudia was sitting on a sofa, and as he said this 
Eugene came up and leant his hands on the back 
of it. He thought he had done it rather well at 
last. To his astonishment, she leapt up. 

“ This is too much ! ” she cried. 

“ Why, what ? ” exclaimed poor Eugene. 

“ To come and tell me to my face that you’re 
afraid I’ve been crying for you for a month past ! ” 

“ Of course I don’t mean ” 

“ Do I look very ill and worn ? ” demanded Clau- 
dia, with elaborate sarcasm. “ Have I faded away ? 
Make your mind easy, Mr. Lane. You will not 
have another girl’s death at your door.” 

Eugene so far forgot himself as to stare at the 
ceiling and exclaim, “ Good God ! ” 

142 


CLAUDIA IS VEXED WITH MANKIND 


This appeared to add new fuel to the flame. 

“ You come and tell a girl — all but in words tell 
her — she was dying for love of you when you were 
engaged to another girl ; dying to hear from you ; 
dying to have you propose to her! And when 
she’s mildly indignant you use some profane ex- 
pression, just as if you had stated the most ordi- 
nary facts in the world ! I am infinitely obliged for 
your compassion, Mr. Lane.” 

44 I meant nothing of the sort. I only meant 

that considering what had passed between us ” 

“ Passed between us ? ” 

44 Well, yes, at Millstead, you know.” 

64 Are you going to tell me 1 said anything then, 
when I knew you were engaged to Kate ? I sup- 
pose you will stop short of that? ” 

Eugene wisely abandoned this line of argument. 
After all, most of the talking had been on his side. 

44 Why will you quarrel, Claudia ? I came here 
in as humble a frame of mind as ever man came in. ” 
44 Your humility, Mr. Lane, is a peculiar quality.” 
44 W on’t you listen to me ? ” 

44 Have I refused to listen ? But no, I don’t 
want to listen now. You have made me too 
angry.” 

44 Oh, but do listen just a little ” 

Claudia suddenly changed her tone — indeed, her 
whole demeanour. 

44 Not to-day,” she said beseechingly ; 44 really, 
not to-day. I won’t tell you why ; but not to-day.” 
44 No time like the present,” suggested Eugene. 

44 Do you know there is something you don’t 
allow for in women ? ” 

44 So it seems. What is that? ” 

44 Just a little pride. No, I will not listen to 
143 


FATHER STAFFORD 


you ! ” she added, with an imperious little stamp of 
her foot, and a relapse into hostility. 

“ May I come again? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

Eugene was not a patient man. He allowed 
himself a shrug of the shoulders. 

“ Are you about to congratulate me on having 
‘ bagged ’ another ? ” 

“You’re entirely hopeless to-day, and entirely 
charming ! ” he said. “If any girl but you had 
treated me like this, I’d never come near her again.” 

Claudia looked daggers. 

“Pray don’t make me an exception to your 
usual rule.” 

“ As it is, I shall go away now and come back 
presently. You may then at least listen to me. 
That’s all I’ve asked you to do so far.” 

“ I am bound to do that. I will some day. But 
do go now.” 

“I will directly; but I want to speak to you 
about something else.” 

“ Anything else in the world ! And on any 
other subject I will be — charming — to you. Sit 
down. What is it ? ” 

“ It’s about Stafford.” 

“ Your friend Father Stafford ? What about 
him? ” 

“ He’s coming down here.” 

“ Oh, how nice ! It will be a pleasant ref — 
resource.” 

Eugene smiled. 

“Don’t mind saying what you mean — or even 
what you don’t mean ; that generally gives people 
greater pleasure.” 

“ You’re making me angry again.” 

144 


CLAUDIA IS VEXED WITH MANKIND 


“ But what do you think he’s coming for? ” 

“To see you, I suppose.” 

“ On the contrary. To see you.” 

“ Pray don’t be absurd.” 

“ It’s gospel truth, and very serious. He is in 
love with you. No — wait, please. You must for- 
give my speaking of it. But you ought to know.” 
“ Father Stafford ? ” 

“No other.” 

“ But he — he’s not going to marry anybody. 
He’s taken a vow.” 

“Yes. He’s going to break it — if you’ll help 
him.” 

“ You wouldn’t make fun of this. Is it true ? ” 
“Yes, it’s desperately true. Now, I’m not go- 
ing to tell you any more, or say anything more 
about it. He’ll come and plead his own cause. 
If you’d treated me differently, I might have 
stopped him. As it is, he must come now.” 

“ Why do you assume I don’t want him to 
come? ” 

“ I assume nothing. I don’t know whether you’ll 
make him happy or treat him as you’ve treated me.” 

“ I shan’t treat him as I’ve treated you, Eu- 
gene ; is he — is he very unhappy about it? ” 

“ Yes, poor devil ! ” said Eugene bitterly. “ He’s 
ready to give up this world and the next for you.” 
“You think that strange ? ” 

Eugene shook his head with a smile. 

A man had given all other bliss 
And all his worldly worth, 

he quoted. “ Stafford would give more than that. 
Good-morning, Lady Claudia.” 

“ Good-bye,” she said. “ When is he coming? ” 
27 145 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ To-day, I expect.” 

“ Thank you.” 

fifi Claudia, if you take him, you’ll let me know ? ” 

“ Yes, yes.” 

She seemed so absent and troubled that he left 
her without more, and made his way to his horse 
and down the drive, without giving a thought to 
the contingent lunch. 

“ She’ll marry me if she doesn’t marry him,” he 
thought. “ But, I say, I did make rather an ass 
of myself! ” And he laughed gently and ruefully 
over Claudia’s wrath and his own method of woo- 
ing. He would have laughed much the same gen- 
tle and rueful laugh over his own hanging, had 
such an unreasonable accident befallen him. 

So far as the main subject of the interview was 
concerned, Claudia was well pleased with herself. 
Her indignation had responded very satisfactorily 
to her call upon it and had enabled her to work off 
on Eugene her resentment, not only for his own 
sins, but also for annoyances for which he could 
not fairly be held responsible. A patient lover 
must be a most valuable safety-valve. And al- 
though Eugene was not the most patient of his 
kind, Claudia did not think that she had put more 
upon him than he was able to bear — certainly not 
more than he deserved to bear. She would have 
dearly loved the luxury of refusing him, and al- 
though she had not been able to make up her 
mind to this extreme measure, she had, at least, 
succeeded in infusing a spice of difficulty into his 
wooing. She was so content with the aspect of 
affairs in this direction that it did not long detain 
her thoughts, and she found herself pondering more 
on the disclosure Eugene had made of Stafford’s 
146 


CLAUDIA IS VEXED WITH MANKIND 

feelings than on his revelation of his own. It is 
difficult, without the aid of subtle distinctions, to 
say exactly what degree of surprise she felt at the 
news. She must, no doubt, have seen that Staf- 
ford was greatly attracted to her, and probably she 
would have felt that the description of his state of 
mind as that of a man in love only erred to the 
extent that a general description must err when 
applied to a particular case. But she was both 
surprised and disturbed at hearing that Stafford 
intended to act upon his feelings, and the very 
fact of her power having overcome him did him 
evil service in her thoughts. The secret of his 
charm for her lay exactly in the attitude of renun- 
ciation that he was now abandoning. She had 
been half inclined to fall in love with him just be- 
cause there was no question of his falling in love 
with her. Her feelings toward Eugene, which lay 
deeper than she confessed, had prevented her 
actually losing her heart, or doing more than 
contemplate the picture of her romantic pas- 
sion, banned by all manner of awful sanctions, as 
a not uninteresting possibility. By abandoning 
his position Stafford abandoned one great source 
of strength. On the other hand, he no doubt 
gained something. Claudia was not insensible to 
that aspect of the case which Ayre had appre- 
hended would influence her so powerfully. She 
did perceive the halo of romance ; and the idea of 
an Ajax defying heavenly lightning for her sake 
had its attractiveness. But Ayre reasoning, as a 
man is prone and perhaps obliged to do, from him- 
self to another, had omitted to take account of a 
factor in Claudia’s mind about the existence of 
which, even if it had been suggested to him, he 
147 


FATHER STAFFORD 


would have been profoundly sceptical. Ayre had 
never been able, or at least never given himself the 
trouble, to understand how real a thing Stafford’s 
vow had been to him, and what a struggle was nec- 
essary before he could disregard it. He would 
have been still more at a loss to appreciate the 
force which the same vow exercised over Claudia. 
Stafford himself had strengthened this feeling in 
her. Although the subject of celibacy, and cel- 
ibacy by oath, had not been discussed openly be- 
tween them, yet in their numerous conversations 
Stafford had not failed to respond to her sympa- 
thetic invitations so far as to give himself full lib- 
erty in descanting on the excellences of the life he 
had chosen for himself. Every word he had spoken 
in its praise now rose to condemn its betrayal. 
And Claudia, who had been brought up in entire 
removal from the spirit which made Ayre and Eu- 
gene treat Stafford’s vow as one of the picturesque 
indiscretions of devotion, was unable to look upon 
the breaking of it in any other light than that of a 
falsehood and an act of treachery. Religion was 
to her a series of definite commands, and although 
her temperament was not such as enabled or led 
her to penetrate beneath the commands to the rea- 
son of them, or emboldened her to rely on the lat- 
ter rather than the former, she had never wavered 
in the view that at least these commands may and 
should be observed, and that, above all, by a man 
whose profession it was to inculcate them. This 
much of genuine disapproval of Stafford’s conduct 
she undoubtedly felt ; and there it would be pleas- 
ant to leave the matter. But in the commanding 
interest of truth it must be added that this genu- 
ine disapproval was, unconsciously perhaps to her- 
148 


CLAUDIA IS VEXED WITH MANKIND 


self, strengthened by more mundane feelings, which 
would, if analysed, have been resolved into a sense 
of resentment against Stafford. He had come to 
her, as it were, under false pretenses. Relying on 
his peculiar position, she had allowed herself, with- 
out scruple, a freedom and expansion in her rela- 
tions toward him that she would have condemned, 
though perhaps not abstained from, had he stood 
exactly where other men stood ; and she felt that, 
if charged with encouraging him and fostering a 
delusion in his mind, her defence, though in reality 
a good one, was not one which the world would 
accept as justifying her. She could not openly 
plead that she had flirted with him, because she 
had never thought he would flirt with her ; or al- 
lowed him to believe she entertained a deeper 
regard for him than she did because he could be 
supposed to feel none for her. Yet that was the 
truth; and perhaps it was a good defence. And 
Claudia was resentful because she could not defend 
herself by using it, and her resentment settled upon 
the ultimate cause of her perplexities. 

When Eugene got back to Territon Park he was 
received by the brothers with unaffected interest. 
They were passing the morning in an exhaustive 
medical inspection of the dogs, but they left even 
this engrossing occupation, and sauntered out to 
meet him. 

“ Well, what luck ? ” asked Rickmansworth. 

“ The debate is adjourned,” answered Eugene. 

“ Did Clau make herself agreeable ? ” 

“ Well, no; in fact, she made herself as disagree- 
able as she knew how.” 

“ Raised Cain, did she ? ” inquired Bob, sympa- 
thetically. 


149 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ Something of the sort ; but I think it’s all 
right.” 

“You play up, old man,” said Bob. 

“ Well, but what the devil are we to do with this 
parson ? ” Lord Rickmansworth demanded. “ He’ll 
be here after lunch, you know. You are an ass, 
Eugene, to bring him down ! ” 

“I’m not quite sure, you know, that he won’t 
persuade her.” 

“ Why didn’t you settle it this morning ? ” 

“ My dear fellow, she was impossible this morn- 
ing.” 

“Oh, bosh!” said his lordship. “Now I’ll tell 
you what you ought to have done ” 

“ Oh, shut up, Rick ! What do you know about 
it ? Stafford must try his luck, if he likes. Don’t 
you fellows bother about him. I’ll see him when 
he comes down.” 

“Would it be infernally uncivil if we happened 
to be out in the tandem ? ” suggested Rickmans- 
worth. 

“ I expect he’d be rather glad.” 

“ Then we will be out in the tandem. If you 
kill him, or the other way, just do it outside, will 
you, so as not to make a mess ? Now we’ll lunch, 
and then, Bob, my boy, we’ll evaporate.” 

It was about three o’clock when Stafford ar- 
rived. He had managed to catch the 1.30 from 
London, and must have started the moment he had 
read his letter. He was shown into the billiard- 
room, where Eugene was restlessly smoking a cigar. 

He came swiftly up, and held out his hand, say- 
ing: 

“ This is like you, my dear old fellow. Not an- 
other man in England would have done it.” 

150 


CLAUDIA IS VEXED WITH MANKIND 


“ Nonsense ! ” replied Eugene. “ I ought to have 
done more.” 

“ More ? How ? ” 

“I ought to have waited till you came before 
I went to see her.” 

“No, no; that would have been too much.” 

He was quite calm and cool; apparently there 
was nothing on his mind, and he spoke of Eugene’s 
visit as if it concerned him little. 

“ I daresay you’re surprised at all this,” he 
continued, “ but I can’t talk about that now. 
It would upset me again. Besides, there’s no 
time.” 

“ Why no time ? ” 

“ I must go straight over and see her.” 

“ My dear Charley, are you set on going ? ” 

“Of course. I came for that purpose. You 
know how sorry I am we are rivals ; but I agree 
with what you said — we needn’t be enemies.” 

“It wasn’t that I meant. But you don’t ask 
how I fared.” 

“Well, I was expecting you would tell me, if 
there was anything to tell.” 

“ I went, you know, to ask her to be my wife.” 

Stafford nodded. 

“ Well, did you?” 

“No, not exactly.” 

“ I thought not.” 

“ I tried to — I mean I wasn’t kept back by loy- 
alty to you — you mustn’t think that. But she 
wouldn’t let me.” 

“ I thought she wouldn’t.” 

Eugene began to understand his state of mind. 
In another man such confidence would have made 
him angry ; but he had only pity for Stafford. 

151 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“I must try and make him understand,” he 
thought. 

“Charley,” he began, “I don’t think you quite 
follow, and it’s not very easy to explain. She didn’t 
refuse me.” 

“ Well, no, if you didn’t ask,” said Stafford, with 
a slight smile. 

“ And she didn’t stop me in — in that way. Look 
here, old fellow; it’s no use beating about the bush. 
I believe she means to have me.” 

Stafford said nothing. 

“ But I don’t say that to put you off going, be- 
cause I’m not sure. But I believe she does. And 
you ought to know what I think. I tell you all I 
know.” 

‘ 4 Do you tell me not to go ? ” 

“ I can’t do that. I only tell you what I be- 
lieve.” 

“ She said nothing of the sort? ” 

“ No — nothing explicit.” 

“ Merely declined to listen ? ” 

“Yes — but in a way.” 

“ My dear Eugene, aren’t you deceiving your- 

“ I think not. I think, you know, you’re deceiv- 
ing yourself.” 

They looked at one another, and suddenly both 
men smiled. 

“ I want to spare you,” said Eugene ; “ but it 
sounds a little absurd.” 

“ The sooner I go the better,” said Stafford. “ 1 
must tell you, old fellow, I go in confident hope. 
If I am wrong ” 

“Yes?” 

“ Everything is over ! Would you feel that? ” 
152 


CLAUDIA IS VEXED WITH MANKIND 


Eugene was always honest with Stafford. He 
searched his heart. 

“ I should be cut up,” he said. “ But no — not 
that.” 

Stafford smiled sadly. 

“ How I wish I could do things by halves ! ” he 
exclaimed. 

“ You will come back ? ” 

“ I’ll leave a line for you as I go by. Whatever 
happens, you have treated me well.” 

44 Good-bye, old man. I can’t say good luck. 
When shall I see you ?” 

“ That depends,” said Stafford. 

Eugene showed him the road to the Dower 
House, and he set out at a brisk walk. 


153 


CHAPTER XIII 


a lover’s fate and a friend’s counsel 

It was about half-past three when Stafford left 
Territon Park ; about the same hour Claudia sallied 
forth from the Dower House to take her constitu- 
tional. When two people start to walk at the 
same time from opposite ends of the same road, 
barring accidents, they meet somewhere about the 
middle. In accordance with this law, when Claudia 
was about two miles from home, walking along the 
path through the dense woods of Territon Park, she 
saw Stafford coming toward her. There were no 
means of escape, and w T ith a sigh of resignation she 
sat down on a rustic seat and awaited his approach. 
He saw her as soon as she saw him, and came up 
to her without any embarrassment. 

“ I am lucky,” he said, “ I was going over to see 
you.” 

Claudia had given some thought to this inter- 
view and had determined on her best course. 

“ Mr. Lane told me you were coming.” 

“ Dear old Eugene ! ” 

“ But 1 hoped you would not.” 

“ Don’t let us begin at the end. I haven’t seen 
you since I left Millstead. Were you surprised at 
my going ? ” 

“ I was rather surprised at the way you went.” 

“I thought you would understand it. Now, 
honestly, didn’t you ? ” 

“Perhaps I did.” 


154 


A LOVERS FATE 


“ I thought so. You had seen what I only saw 
that very night. You understood ” 

“ Please, Father Stafford ” 

“Say Mr. Stafford.” 

“No. I know you as Father Stafford, and I 
like that best.” 

“As you will — for the present. You knew how T 
I stood. You saw I loved you — no, I am going 
on — and yet felt myself bound not to tell you.” 

“ I saw nothing of the kind. It never entered 
my head.” 

“ Claudia, is it possible ? Did you never think 
of it?” 

“ As nothing more than a possibility — and a very 
unhappy possibility.” 

“ Why unhappy ? ” he asked, and his voice was 
very tender. 

“ To begin with: you could never love any one.” 

“ I have swept all that on one side. That is 
over.” 

“ How can it be over ? You had sworn.” 

“ Yes ; but it is over.” 

“ Dare you break your vow? ” 

“ If I dare, who else dare question me ? Have I 
not counted the cost? ” 

“ Nothing can make it right.” 

“ Why talk of that ? It is my sin and my con- 
cern.” 

“ You destroy all my esteem for you.” 

“I ask for love, not for esteem. Esteem be- 
tween you and me ! I love you more than all the 
world.” 

“ Ah ! don’t say that ! ” 

“ Yes, more than my soul. And you talk of es- 
teem ! Ah I you don’t know what a man’s love is.” 

155 


FATHER STAFFORD 


44 I never thought of you as making love.” 

4 4 1 think now of nothing else. Why should I 
trouble you with my struggles? Now I am free 
to love — and you, Claudia, are free to return my 
love.” 

44 Did you think I was in love with you ? ” 

44 Yes,” said Stafford. 44 But you knew my 
promise, and did not let yourself see your own 
feelings. Ah, Claudia ! if it is only the promise ! ” 
44 It isn’t only the promise. You have no right 
to speak like that. I should never have done as I 
did if I’d even thought of you like that.” 

44 What do you mean by saying it’s not only the 
promise? ” 

44 Why, that I don’t love you — I never did — oh, 
what a wretched thing ! ” And she rose and paced 
about, clasping her hands. 

Stafford was very pale now, but very quiet. 

44 You never loved me? ” 

44 No.” 

44 But you will. You must, when you know my 

love ” 

44 No.” 

44 Yes, but you will. Let me tell you what you 
are ” 

44 No, I never can.” 

44 Is it true ? Why? ” 

44 Because — oh ! don’t you see ? ” 

44 No. Wasn’t it because you loved me that 
you wouldn’t let Eugene speak ? ” 

44 No, no, no ! ” 

44 Claudia,” he cried, clasping her wrist, 4 4 were 
you playing with him? ” 

No answer seemed possible but the truth. 

44 Yes,” she said, bowing her head. 

156 


A LOVERS FATE 


“ And playing with me? ” 

“ No, that’s unjust. I never did. I thought ” 

“ You thought I was beyond hurt? ” 

“ I suppose so. You set up to be.” 

“Yes, I set up to be,” he said bitterly. “And 
the truth — in God’s name let us have truth — is 
that you love him ? ” 

“ Have you no pity? Why do you press me? ” 

“ I will not press you ; God forbid I should 
trouble you ! But is this the end ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Is it final — no hope? Think what it means to 
me.” 

“ If I do care for Mr. Lane, is this friendly to 
him?” 

“ I am beyond friendship, as I am beyond con- 
science. Claudia, turn to me. No man ever 
loved as I do.” 

“ I can’t help it,” she said ; “ I can’t help it ! ” 

Stafford sank down on the seat and sat there for 
a moment without speaking. Claudia was awed 
at the look on his face. 

“ Don’t look like that ! ” she cried. “ You look 
like a man lost.” 

“Yes, lost!” he echoed. “All lost — all lost — 
and for nothing ! ” 

Silence followed for a long time. Then he 
roused himself, and looked at her. Claudia’s eyes 
were full of tears. 

“It’s not your fault, my sweet lady,” he said 
gently. “You are pure and bright and beautiful, 
as you ever were, and I have raved and frightened 
you. Well, I will go.” 

“ Go where? ” 

“ Where ? I don’t know yet.” 

157 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ I am so very, very sorry. But you must try 
— you must forget about it.” 

He smiled. 

“Yes, I must forget about it.” 

“ You will be yourself again — your old self — not 
weak like this, but giving others strength.” 

“ Yes,” he said again, humouring her. 

“ Surely you can do it — you who had such 
strength. And don’t think hardly of me.” 

“ 1 think of you as I used to think of God,” he 
said; and bent and kissed her hand. 

“ Oh, hush! ” she cried. “ Pray don’t! ” 

He kissed her hand once again, and then 
straightened himself, and said : 

“Now I am going. You must forget — or re- 
member Millstead, not Territon. And I ” 

“ Yes, and you ? ” 

“ I will go, too, where I may find forgetfulness. 
Good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye,” said Claudia, and gave him her hand 
again, her heart full of pity and almost of love. 
He turned on his heel, and she stood and watched 
him go. For a moment a sudden thought flashed 
through her head. 

“ Shall I call him back ? Shall I ever find such 
love as his ? ” 

She started a step forward, but stopped again. 

“No, I do not love him,” she said. “And I do 
love my careless Eugene. But God comfort him ! 
O God, comfort him ! ” 

And so standing and praying for him, she let 
him go. 

And he went, with no falter in his step and never 
a look backward. This thing also had he set be- 
hind him. 


158 


A LOVERS FATE 

Claudia still stood fixed on the spot where he 
had left her. Then she sat down on the seat, and 
gave herself up to memories of their walks and 
talks at Millstead. 

“ Why need he spoil it all ? ” she cried. “ Why 
need he give me a sad memory, when I had such a 
pleasant one ? Oh, how foolish they are ! What 
a pity it’s Eugene, and not him ! Eugene would 
never have looked like that. He’d have made a 
bitter little speech, and then a pretty little speech, 
and smoothed his feathers and flown away. But 
still it is Eugene ! Oh, dear, I shall never be quite 
happy again ! ” 

We may reasonably, nay confidently, hope that 
this was looking at the black side of things. It is 
pleasant to act a little to ourselves now and then. 
The little pieces are thrilling, and they don’t last 
much longer than their counterparts upon the stage. 
With most of us the curtain falls very punctually, 
leaving time for a merry supper, where we forget 
the headache and the thousand natural and unnat- 
ural ills that passed in our sight before the green 
baize let fall its merciful veil. 

Stafford pursued his way through the woods. 
Arriving at the lodge gates, he stopped abruptly, 
remembering his promise to Eugene. He saw a 
little fellow playing about, and called to him. 

“ Do you know Mr. Lane, my boy ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes, sir,” said the child. 

“ Then I’ll give you something to take to him.” 

He took a card out of his pocket and wrote on 
it: “You were right. I am going to London”; 
and giving it, with a sixpence, to his messenger, re- 
sumed his journey to the station. 

He was stunned. It cannot be denied that he 
159 


FATHER STAFFORD 


had been blindly hopeful, blindly confident. He had 
persuaded himself that his love for Claudia could 
be nothing but the outcome of a natural bond be- 
tween them that must produce a like feeling in 
her. He had attributed to her the depth and in- 
tensity of emotion that he found in himself. He 
had seen in her not merely a girl of more than 
common quickness, and perhaps more than com- 
mon capacity, but a great nature ready to respond 
to a great passion in another. She had much to 
give to the man she loved ; but Stafford asked even 
more than was hers to bestow. He had deceived 
himself, and the delusion was still upon him. He was 
conscious only of an utter, hopeless void. He had 
removed all to make room for Claudia, and Claudia 
refused to fill the vacant place. With all the will 
in the world she could not have filled it ; but no 
such thought as this came to console Stafford. He 
saw his joy, but was forbidden to reach out his 
hand and pluck it. His life lay in the hollow of 
her hand, to grant or withhold, and she had closed 
her grasp upon it. 

He did not rest until he reached his hotel, for he 
felt a longing to be able to sit down quietly and 
think it all over. He fancied that when he reached 
his own little room, the cloud that now seemed to 
hang over all his faculties would disperse, and he 
would see some plain road before him. In this he 
was not altogether disappointed, for it did become 
clear to him, as he sat in his chair, that the question 
he had to solve was whether he could now find any 
motive strong enough to keep him in life. He 
realised that Claudia’s action must be accepted as 
a final destruction of his short dream of happiness. 
He felt that he could not go back to his old life, 
160 


A LOVERS FATE 


much less to his old attitude of mind, as if nothing 
had happened — as if he were an unchanged man, 
save for one sorrowful memory. The transformation 
had been too thorough for that. He had almost 
hoped that he would find himself the subject of 
some sudden revulsion of feeling, some uncontrol- 
lable fit of remorse, which would restore him, beaten 
and bruised, to his old refuge; but had his hope 
been realised, his sense of relief would, he knew, 
have been mingled with a measure of contempt for 
a mind so completely a prey to transient emotions. 
His nature was not of that sort, and he could not 
by a spasm of penitence nullify the events of the 
last few months. He must accept himself as altered 
by what he had gone through. Was there, then, 
any life left for the man he was now ? 

Undoubtedly, the easiest thing was to bid a quiet 
good-bye to the life he had so mismanaged. He 
had never in old days been wedded to life. He 
had learnt always to regard it rather as a necessary 
evil than as a thing desirable in itself. Its momen- 
tary sweetness left it more bitter still. There would 
be a physical pang, inevitable to a strong man, full 
of health. But this he was ready to face ; and now, 
in leaving life, he would leave behind nothing he 
regretted. The religious condemnation of suicide, 
which in former days would not have decided, but 
prevented such a discussion in his mind, now 
weighed little with him. No doubt it would be 
an act of cowardice : but he had been guilty of 
such a much more flagrant treachery and desertion, 
that the added sin seemed a small matter. He felt 
that to boggle over it would be like condemning a 
murderer for trying to cheat the gallows. But still, 
there was the natural dislike of an acknowledg- 
28 161 


FATHER STAFFORD 


ment of utter defeat; and, added to this, the bitter 
reluctance a man of ability feels at the idea of his 
powers ceasing to be active, and himself ceasing to 
be. The instinct of life was strong in him, though 
his reason seemed to tell him there was no way in 
which his life could be used. 

“ It’s better to go!” he exclaimed at last, after 
long hours of conflicting meditation. 

It was getting late in the evening. Eleven 
o’clock had struck, and he thought he would go to 
bed. He was very tired and worn out, and de- 
cided to put off further questions till the next 
day. 

After all, there was no hurry. He knew the 
worst now; the blow had been struck, and only 
the dull, unending pain was with him — and would 
be till the hour came when he should free himself 
from it. He resolutely turned his mind away from 
Claudia. He could not bear to think about her. 
If only he could manage to think about nothing 
for an hour, sleep would come. 

He rose to take his candle, but at the same mo- 
ment a waiter opened the door. 

“ A gentleman to see you, sir.” 

“ To see me ? Who is it ? ” 

“ He says his name’s Ayre, and he hopes you’ll 
see him.” 

“ I can’t see him at this time of night,” said Staf- 
ford, with the petulance of weariness. Why did 
the man bother him ? 

But Ayre had followed close on his messenger, 
and entered the room as Stafford spoke. 

“ Pray forgive me, Mr. Stafford,” he said, “ for 
intruding on you so unceremoniously.” 

Stafford received him with courtesy, but did not 
162 


A LOVERS FATE 


succeed in concealing his questioning as to the mo- 
tive of the visit. 

Ayre took the chair his host gave him. 

“You think this a very strange proceeding on 
my part, 1 dare say ? ” 

“ How did you know I was here ? ” 

“ I had a wire from Eugene Lane. I’m afraid I 
seem to be taking a liberty, and that’s a thing I 
hate doing. But I was most anxious to see you.” 

“ Has Eugene any news ? ” 

“ What he says is this : ‘ It has happened as we 
feared. I am uneasy about him. Can you see him 
to-night ? ’ ” 

“ I suppose, then, my fortune is known to you ? ” 

“Yes; I wish I had seen you before you went. 
Do you mind my interfering ? ” 

‘‘No, not now. You could have done no good 
before.” 

“ I could have told you it was no use.” 

“ I shouldn’t have believed you.” 

“ I suppose you were bound to try it for your- 
self. Now, you think I don’t understand your 
feelings.” 

“ I suppose most people think they know how a 
man feels when he’s crossed in love,” said Stafford, 
trying to speak lightly. 

“ That’s not the only thing with you.” 

“ No, it isn’t,” he replied, a little surprised. 

“ I feel rather responsible for it all, you know. 
I was at the bottom of Morewood’s showing you 
that picture.” 

“ It must have dawned on me sooner or later.” 

“ I don’t know. But, yes — I expect so. You’re 
hard hit.” 

Stafford smiled. 


163 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ Hard hit about her ; and harder hit because it 
was a plunge to go into it at all.” 

“ You’re quite right.” 

“ Of course I can’t go into that side of it very 
much, but I think I know more or less how you 
feel.” 

“ I really think you do. It surprises me.” 

“ Yes. But, Stafford, may I go on taking liber- 
ties ? ” 

“ I believe you are my friend. Let us put that 
sort of question out of the way. Why have you 

o 15 

come { 

“ What does he mean by saying he’s uneasy about 
you ? ” 

“ It’s the old fellow’s love for me.” 

Ayre was silent for a moment. Then he asked 
abruptly : 

“ What are you going to do ? ” 

“ I have hardly had time to look round yet.” 

“ Why should it make any difference to you ? ” 

Stafford was puzzled. He thought Ayre had 
really recognised the state of his mind. He was 
inclined to think so still. But how, then, could he 
ask such a question ? 

“You’ve had your holiday,” Ayre went on 
calmly, “ and a precious bad use you’ve made of 
it. Why not go back to work now ? ” 

“ As if nothing had happened ? ” This was the 
very suggestion he had made to himself, and scorn- 
fully rejected. 

“ You think you’re utterly smashed, of course — 
I know what a facer it can be — and you’re just the 
man to take it very hard. Stafford, I’m sorry.” 
And with a sudden impulse he held out his hand. 

Stafford grasped it. The sympathy almost 
164 


A LOVERS FATE 

broke him down. “ She is all the world to me,’* 
he said. 

“Aye, but be a man. You have your work to 
do.” 

“No, I have no work to do. I threw all that 
away.” 

“ I expected you’d say that.” 

“ I know, of course, what you think of it. In 
your view, that vow of mine was nonsense — a part 
of the high-falutin’ way I took everything in. Isn’t 
that so ? ” 

“ I didn’t come here to try and persuade you to 
think as I do about such things. I am not so fond 
of my position that 1 need proselytise. But I want 
you to look into yours.” 

“ Mine is only too clear. I have given up every- 
thing and got nothing. It’s this way : all the heart 
is out of me. If I went back to my work I should 
be a sham.” 

“ I don’t see that. May I smoke ? ” 

He lighted a cigar, and sat quiet for a few 
seconds. 

“ I suppose,” he resumed, “ you still believe what 
you used to teach ? ” 

“ Certainly ; that is — yes, I believe it. But it 
isn’t part of me as it was.” 

“ Ah ! but you think it’s true ? ” 

“ I remain perfectly satisfied with the demon- 
stration of its truth — only I have lost the faith that 
is above knowledge.” 

It was evidently only with an effort that Ayre 
repressed a sarcasm. Stafford saw his difficulty. 

“ You don’t follow that ? ” 

“ I have heard it spoken of before. But, after 
all, it’s beside the point. You believe the things 

165 


FATHER STAFFORD 


so that, as far as honesty goes, you could still 
teach them ? ” 

“ Certainly I should believe every dogma I 
taught.” 

“ Including the dogma that people ought to be 
good ? ” 

“ Including that,” answered Stafford, with a smile. 

“ I don’t see what more you want,” said Sir Rod- 
erick, with an air of finality. 

Stafford felt himself, against his will, growing 
more cheerful. In fact, it was a pleasure to him 
to exercise his brains once again, instead of being 
the slave of his emotions. Ayre had anticipated 
such a result from their conversation. 

“ Everything more,” he said. “ Personal holiness 
is at the bottom of it all.” 

“ The best thing, I dare say,” Ayre conceded. 
“ But indispensable ? Besides, you have it.” 

“ Never again.” 

“ Yes, I say — in all essentials.” 

“ I can’t do it. Ah, Ayre ! it’s all empty to me 
now.” 

“ For God’s sake, be a man ! Is there nothing 
on earth to be but a saint or a husband ? ” 

Stafford looked at him inquiringly. 

“ Heavens, man ! have you no ambition ? Here 
you are, with ten men’s brains, and you sit — I 
don’t know how you sit — in sackcloth, clearly, but 
whether for heaven or for Claudia I don’t know. 
You think it odd to hear me preach ambition ? I’m 
a lazy devil ; but I have some power. Yes, I’m in 
my way a power. I might have been a greater. 
You might be a greater than ever I could.” 

Stafford listened. 

“ Do good if you can,” Ayre went on, “ and you 
166 


A LOVER’S FATE 


can. But do something. Don’t throw up the 
sponge because you had one fall. Make yourself 
something to live for.” 

“ In the Church?” 

“Yes — that suits you best. Your own Church 
or another. I’ve often wondered why you don’t 
try the other.” 

“ I’ve been very near trying it before now.” 

“It’s a splendid field. Glorious ! You might 
do anything.” 

Stafford was silent, and Ayre sat regarding him 
closely. 

“ Use my office for personal ambition ? ” he asked 
at last. 

“Pray don’t talk cant. Do some good work, 
and raise yourself high enough to do more.” 

“ I doubt that motive.” 

“ Never mind the motive. Do, man, do ! and 
don’t puke. Leave Eugene to lounge through life. 
He does it nicely. You’re made for more.” 

Stafford looked up at him as he laid a hand on 
his shoulder. 

“ It’s all misery,” he said. 

“ Now, yes. But not always.” 

“And it’s not what I meant.” 

“ No, you meant to be a saint. Many of us do.” 

“ I feel what you mean, but I have scruples.” 

Ayre looked at him curiously. 

“You’re not a man of scruples really,” he said; 
“ you’ll get over them.” 

“ Is that a compliment ? ” 

“ Depends on whom you ask. You’ll think of 
it ? Think of what you might do and be. Now, 
I’m off.” 

Stafford rose to show him out. 

167 


FATHER STAFFORD 

“ I’m not sure whether I ought to thank you,” 
he said. 

“ You will think of it ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And you won’t kill yourself without seeing me 
again ? ” 

“ You were afraid of that ? ” 

“ Yes. Was I wrong ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ You won’t, then, without seeing me again ? ” 

“ No ; I promise.” 

Ayre found his way downstairs, and into the 
street. 

“ It will work,” he said to himself. 66 If the Hu- 
mane Society did its duty, I should have a gold 
medal. I have saved a life to-night — and a life 
worth saving.” 

And Stafford, instead of going to bed, sat in his 
chair again, pondering the new things in his heart. 


168 


CHAPTER XIV 


SOME PEOPLE ARE AS FORTUNATE AS THEY 
DESERVE TO BE 

Eugene Lane had been rather puzzled by Claudia’s 
latest proceedings. On the morrow of her inter- 
view with Stafford he had received from her an in- 
coherent note, in which she took grave blame to 
herself for “this unhappy occurrence,” and inti- 
mated that it would be long before she could bear 
to discuss any question pending between herself 
and her correspondent. Eugene was not disposed 
to acquiesce in this decision. He had done as 
much as honour and friendship demanded, and saw 
no reason why his own happiness should be longer 
delayed ; for he had little doubt that Stafford’s re- 
buff meant his own success. He could not, how- 
ever, persist in seeking Claudia after her declaration 
of unwillingness to be sought ; and he departed 
from Territon Park in some degree of dudgeon. 
All this sort of thing seemed to him to have a 
touch of the theatre about it. But Claudia took it 
seriously ; she did not forbid him to write to her, 
but she answered none of his letters, and Lord 
Rickmansworth, whom he encountered at one of 
the October race-meetings, gave him to understand 
that she was living a life of seclusion at Territon 
Park. Rickmansworth openly scoffed at this be- 
haviour, and Eugene did not know whether to be 
pleased at finding his views agreed with, or angry 
at hearing his mistress’s whims treated with fra- 
169 


FATHER STAFFORD 


ternal disrespect. Ultimately, he found himself, 
under the influence of lunch, coinciding with Rick- 
mansworth’s dictum that girls rather liked making 
fools of themselves, and that Claudia was no better 
than the rest. It was one of Eugene’s misfortunes 
that he could not cherish illusions about his friends, 
unless his feeling toward Stafford must be ranked 
as an illusion. About the latter he had heard noth- 
ing, except for a short note from Sir Roderick, tell- 
ing him that no tragedy of a violent character need 
now be feared. He was anxious to see Ayre and 
learn what had passed, but that gentleman had also 
vanished to recruit at a German bath after his ardu- 
ous labours. 

It was mid-November before any progress was 
made in the matter. Eugene was in London, and 
so were very many people, for Parliament met in 
the autumn that year, and the season before Christ- 
mas was more active than usual. He had met 
Haddington about the House, and congratulated 
him with a fervour and sincerity that had made 
the recipient of his blessings positively uneasy. 
Why should Lane be so uncommonly glad to get 
rid of Kate ? thought the happy man who had won 
her from him. It really looked as if there were 
something more than met the eye. Eugene de- 
tected this idea in Haddington’s mind, and it caused 
him keen amusement. Kate also he had encoun- 
tered, and their meeting had been marked by the 
ceremonious friendship demanded by the circum- 
stances. The flavour of diplomacy imparted to 
private life by these episodes had not, however, 
been strong enough to prevent Eugene being very 
bored. He was growing from day to day less pa- 
tient of Claudia’s invisibility, and he expressed his 
170 


SOME PEOPLE ARE FORTUNATE 

feeling very plainly one day to Rickmansworth, 
whom he happened to encounter in the outer lobby, 
as the noble lord was finding his way to the un- 
wonted haunt of the House of Lords, thereto at- 
tracted by a debate on the proper precautions it 
behooved the nation to take against pleuro-pneu- 
monia. 

“ Surprising,” he said, “ what interesting subjects 
the old buffers get hold of now and then ! Come 
and hear ’em, old man.” 

“ The Lord forbid ! ” said Eugene. “ But I 
want to say a word to you, Rick, about Claudia. 
I can’t stand this much longer.” 

“ I wouldn’t,” said Rickmansworth, “ if I were 
you ; but it isn’t my fault.” 

“It’s absurd treating me like this because of 
Stafford’s affair.” 

“ W ell, why don’t you go and call in Gros venor 
Square? She’s there with Aunt Julia.” 

“ I will. Do you think she’ll see me ? ” 

‘ ‘ My dear fellow, I don’t know ; only if I 
wanted to see a girl, I bet she’d see me.” 

Eugene smiled at his friend’s indomitable self- 
confidence, and let him fly to the arms of pleuro- 
pneumonia. He then dispensed with his own 
presence in his branch of the Legislature, and took 
his way toward Grosvenor Square, where Lord 
Rickmansworth’s town house was. 

Lady Claudia was not at home. She had gone 
with her aunt earlier in the day to give Mr. More- 
wood a sitting. Mr. Morewood was painting her 
portrait. 

“ I expect they’ve stayed to tea. I haven’t seen 
old Morewood for no end of a time. Gad ! I’ll go 
to tea.” 


171 


FATHER STAFFORD 


And he got into a hansom and went, wondering 
with some amusement how Claudia had persuaded 
Morewood to paint her. It turned out, however, 
that the transaction was of a purely commercial 
character. Rickmans worth, having been very suc- 
cessful at the race-meeting above referred to, had 
been minded to give his sister a present, and she 
had chosen her own head on a canvas. The price 
offered was such that Morewood could not refuse ; 
but he had in the course of the sitting greatly 
annoyed Claudia by mentioning incidentally that 
her face did not interest him and was, in fact, such 
a face as he would never have painted but for the 
pressure of penury. 

“ Why doesn’t it interest you ? ” asked she, in 
pardonable irritation. 

“ I don’t know. It’s — but I dare say it’s my 
fault,” he replied, in that tone which clearly im- 
plies the opposite of what is asserted. 

“It must be, I think,” said Claudia gently. 
“You see, it interests so many people, Mr. More- 
wood.” 

“ Not artists.” 

“ Dear me ! no ! 

“ Whom then ? ” 

“ Oh, the nobility and gentry.” 

“ And clergy ? ” 

A shadow passed across her face — but a fleeting 
shadow. 

“ You paint very slowly,” she said. 

“ I do when I am not inspired. I hate painting 
young women.” 

“Oh! Why?” 

“ They’re not meant to be painted ; they’re 
meant to be kissed.” 


172 


SOME PEOPLE ARE FORTUNATE 


44 Does the one exclude the other ? ” 

“ That’s for you to say,” said More wood, with a 
grin. 

4 4 1 think they’re meant to be painted by some 
people, and kissed by other people. Let the cob- 
bler stick to his last, Mr. Morewood. ” 

44 1 wonder if you’ll stick to your last,” said 
Morewood. 

Claudia decided that she had better not see this 
joke, if the contemptible quip could be so called. 
It was very impertinent, and she had no retort 
ready. She revenged herself by declaring her sit- 
ting at an end, and inviting herself and her aunt to 
stay to tea. 

44 I’ve got no end of work to do,” Morewood 
protested. 

44 Surely tea is compris ?” she asked, with raised 
eyebrows. 4 4 We shan’t stay more than an hour.” 

Morewood groaned, but ordered tea. After all, it 
was too dark to paint, and — well, she was amusing. 

Eugene arrived almost at the same moment as 
tea. Morewood was glad to see him, and went as 
near showing it as he ever did. Lady Julia re- 
ceived him with effusion, Claudia with dignity. 

44 1 have pursued you from Grosvenor Square, 
Lady Julia,” he said. 44 1 didn’t come to see old 
Morewood, you know.” 

44 As much as to see me, I dare say,” said Lady 
Julia in an aside. 

Eugene protested with a shake of the head, and 
Morewood carried him off to have such inspection 
of the picture as artificial light could afford. 

44 You’ve got her very well.” 

44 Yes, pretty well. It’s a bright little shallow 
face.” 


173 


FATHER STAFFORD 


44 Go to the devil ! ” said Eugene, in strong in- 
dignation. 

44 1 only said that to draw you. There is some- 
thing in the girl — but not overmuch, you know.” 

“There’s all I want.” 

44 Oh, I should think so ! Heard anything of 
Stafford ? ” 

44 No, except that he’s gone off somewhere alone 
again. He wrote to Ayre; Ayre told me. He 
and Ayre are very thick now.” 

44 A queer combination.” 

44 Yes. I wonder what they’ll make of one an- 
other!” 

Morewood was a good-natured man at bottom, 
and after a few minutes’ more talk he carried off 
Aunt Julia to look at his etchings. 

44 So I have run you down at last? ” said Eugene 
to Claudia. 

44 1 told you I didn’t want to see you.” 

44 1 know. But that was a month ago.” 

44 1 was very much upset.” 

44 So was I, awfully ! ” 

44 Do you think it was my fault, Mr. Lane ? ” 

44 Not a bit. So far as it was anybody’s fault, it 
was mine.” 

44 How yours ? ” 

44 W ell, you see, he thought ” 

44 Yes, I see. You needn’t go on. He thought 
you were out of the question, and therefore ” 

44 Now, Lady Claudia, are you going to quarrel 
again ? ” 

44 No, I don’t think so. Only you are so annoy- 
ing. Is he in great trouble ? ” 

44 He was. I think he’s better now. But it was 
a terrible blow to him, as it would be to any one.” 

174 


SOME PEOPLE ARE FORTUNATE 


“ To you ? ” 

“ It would be death ! ” 

“ Nonsense ! ” said Claudia. “ What is he going 
to do?” 

“I don’t know. I think he will go back to 
work.” 

“ I never intended any harm.” 

“You never do.” 

“ You mean I do it ? Pray don’t try to be des- 
perate and romantic, Mr. Lane. It’s not in your 
line.” 

“ It’s curious I can never get credit for deep feel- 
ing. I have spent a miserable month.” 

“ So have I.” 

“ Because I could see not the person I love best 
in the world.” 

“ Ah ! that wasn’t my reason.” 

“ Claudia, you must give me an answer.” 

Claudia rose, and joined her aunt and More- 
wood. She gave Eugene no further opportunity 
for private conversation, and soon after the ladies 
took their leave. As Eugene shook hands with 
Claudia, he said : 

“ May I call to-morrow ? ” 

“You are a little unkind ; but you may.” And 
she rapidly passed on to Morewood, and with much 
sparring made an appointment for her next sitting. 

“ Why does she fence so with me ? ” he asked 
the painter, as he took his hat. 

“ What’s the harm ? You know you enjoy it.” 

“ I don’t.” 

But it is very possible he did. 

The next day Eugene took advantage of Clau- 
dia’s permission. He went to Grosvenor Square, 
and asked boldly for Lady Claudia. He was 
175 


FATHER STAFFORD 


shown into the drawing-room. After a time Clau- 
dia came to him. 

44 1 have come for my answer,” he said, taking 
her hand. 

Claudia was looking grave. 

44 You know the answer,” she said. 44 It must 
be 4 Yes.’ ” 

Eugene drew her to him and kissed her. 

44 But you say 4 Yes ’ as if it gave you pain.” 

44 So it does, in a way.” 

44 You don’t like being conquered even by your 
own prisoner ? ” 

44 It’s not that; that is, I think, rather a namby- 
pamby feeling. At any rate, I don’t feel it.” 

44 What is it, then ? You don’t care enough for 
me ? ” 

44 Ah, I care too much ! ” she cried. “Eugene, 
I wish I could have loved Father Stafford, and not 
you.” 

44 Why so ? ” 

44 1 was at the very centre of his life. I don’t 
think I am more than on the fringe of yours.” 

44 A very priceless fringe to a very worthless 
fabric ! ” said he, kissing her hand. 

“Yes,” she answered, with a smile, “you are 
perfect in that. You might give lessons in ama- 
tory deportment.” 

44 Out of a full heart the mouth speaketh.” 

44 Ah ! does it ? May not a lover be too point-de- 
vice in his speeches as well as in his accoutre- 
ments ? Father Stafford came to me pale, yes, 
trembling, and with rugged words.” 

44 1 am not the man that Stafford is — save for 
my lady’s favour.” 

44 And you came in confidence ? ” 

176 


SOME PEOPLE ARE FORTUNATE 


“You had let me hope.” 

“ You have known it for a long while. I don’t 
trust you, you know, but I must. Will you treat 
me as you treated Kate ? ” 

“ Slander ! ” cried he gayly. “ I didn’t 4 treat ’ 
Kate. Kate 4 treated ’ me.” 

“ Poor fellow ! ” 

He had sat down in a low chair close to hers, 
and she bent down and kissed him on the fore- 
head. 

“ At least, I don’t think you’ll like any one bet- 
ter than you like me, and I must be content with 
that.” 

“I have worshipped you for years. Was ever 
beauty so exacting ? ” 

4 4 With lucid intervals ? ” 

44 Never a moment. A sense of duty once led 
me astray — dynastic considerations — a suitable 
cousin.” 

44 Yes; and I suppose a moonlight night.” 

44 Pereant quae ante te! You know a little 
Latin ? ” 

44 1 think I’d better not just now.” 

44 You may want it for yourself, you know, with 
a change of gender. But we’ll not bandy recrimi- 
nations.” 

44 1 wasn’t joking.” 

“Not when you began; but with me all your 
troubles shall end in jokes, and every tear in a 
smile. Claudia, I never knew you so alarmingly 
serious before.” 

44 Well, I won’t be serious any more. The fatal 
deed is done ! ” 

44 And I may say 4 Claudia ’ now without fear 
of any one ? ” 

29 


177 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“You will be able to say it for about the next 
fifty years. I hope you won’t get tired of it. 
Eugene, try to get tired of me last of all.” 

“ Never while I live ! You are a perpetual 
refreshment.” 

“ A lofty function ! ” 

“And the spring of all my life. Let us be 
happy, dear, and never mind fifty years hence.” 

“ I will,” she said ; “ and I am happy.” 

“And, please God, you shall always be so. 
One would think it was a very dangerous thing to 
marry me ! ” 

“ I will brave the danger.” 

“ There is none. I have found my goddess.” 

The door opened suddenly, and Bob Territon 
entered at the very moment when Eugene was 
sealing his vow of homage. Bob was pleased to be 
playful. Holding his hands before his face, he 
turned and pretended to fly. 

“ Come in, old man,” cried Eugene, “ and con- 
gratulate me ! ” 

“ Oh ! you have fixed it, have you? ” 

“We have. Don’t you think we shall do very 
well together ? ” 

Bob stood regarding them, his hands in his 
pockets. 

“ Yes,” he said at length, “I think you will. 
There’s a pair of you.” 

And he could never be persuaded to explain this 
utterance. But it is to be feared that the thought 
underlying it was one not over-complimentary to 
the happy lovers. And Bob knew them both very 
well. 


178 


CHAPTER XV 


AN END AND A BEGINNING 

When Sir Roderick Ayre returned to England, he 
had to undergo much questioning concerning his 
dealings with Stafford. It had somehow become 
known throughout the little group of people inter- 
ested in Stafford’s abortive love-affair that he and 
Ayre had held conference together, and the im- 
pression was that Ayre’s counsel had, to some ex- 
tent at least, shaped Stafford’s resolution and con- 
duct. Ayre did not talk freely on the matter. 
He fenced with the idle inquiries of the Terri- 
ton brothers; he calmed Mrs. Lane’s solicitude 
with soothing words ; he put Morewood off with a 
sneer at the transitoriness of love-affairs in general. 
To Eugene he spoke more openly, and did not hes- 
itate to congratulate himself on the part he had 
taken in reconciling Stafford to life and work. 
Eugene cordially agreed with his point of view; 
and Ayre felt that he was in a fair way to be rid 
of the matter, when one day Claudia sprang upon 
him with a new assault. 

He had come to see her, and tender hearty con- 
gratulations. He felt that the successful issue of 
Eugene’s suit was in some degree his own work, 
and he was well pleased that his two favourites 
should have taken to one another. Moreover, he 
reaped intellectual satisfaction from the fulfilment 
of a prophecy made when its prospects of realisa- 
tion seemed very scant. Claudia admitted her own 
179 


FATHER STAFFORD 


pleasure in her engagement, and did not attempt 
to deny that her affection had dated from a period 
when by all the canons of propriety she should have 
had no thoughts of Eugene. 

“We are not responsible for our emotions,” she 
said, laughing; “and you will admit I behaved with 
the utmost decorum.” 

“ About your usual decorum,” he replied. “ The 
situation was difficult.” 

“ It was indeed,” she sighed. “ Eugene was so 
very — well, reckless. But I want to ask you some- 
thing.” 

“ Say on.” 

“ I heard about your interview with Father Staf- 
ford ; what did you say to him ? ” 

“ Of course Eugene has told you all I told 
him ? ” 

“ Probably. I told him to.” 

“ Well, that’s all.” 

“ In fact, you told him I wasn’t worth fretting 
about ! ” 

“ Not in that personal way. I asserted a general 
principle, and reluctantly denied that you were an 
exception.” 

“ I hope you did tell him I wasn’t worth it, and 
very plainly. But hasn’t he gone back to his relig- 
ious work ? ” 

“ I think he will.” 

“ Did you advise him to do that ? ” 

“ Yes, certainly. It’s what he’s most fit for, and 
I told him so.” 

“ He spoke to me as if — as if he had no religion 
left.” 

“Yes, it took him in that way. He’ll get over 
that.” 


180 


AN END AND A BEGINNING 


“ I think you were wrong to tell him to go back. 
Didn’t you encourage him to go back to the work 
without feeling the religion ? ” 

“ Perhaps I did. Did Eugene tell you that ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ 111 never say anything to a lover again.” 

“ Didn’t you tell him to use his work for personal 
ends — for ambition, and so on ? ” 

“ Oh, in a way. I had to stir him up — I had to 
tide him over a bad hour.” 

“ That was very wrong. It was teaching him to 
degrade himself.” 

“ He can pursue his work in perfect sincerity. I 
found that out.” 

“ Can he if he does it with a low motive? ” 

“ My dear girl, whose motives are not mixed ? 
Whose heart is single? ” 

“ His was once ! ” 

“ Before he met — you and me? I made the best 
job I could. I cemented the breakage ; I couldn’t 
undo it.” 

“ I would rather ” 

“ He’d picturesquely drown himself? ” 

“ Oh, no,” she said, with a shudder ; “ but it low- 
ers my ideal of him.” 

“ That, considering your position, is not wholly a 
bad thing.” 

“ Do you think he’s justified in doing it ? ” 

“ To tell the truth, I don’t see quite to the bot- 
tom of him. But he will do great things ” 

“ Now he is well quit of me ? ” 

Sir Roderick smiled. 

“ Well, I don’t like it.” 

“ Then you should have married him, and left 
Eugene to do the drowning.” 

181 


FATHER STAFFORD 


“ Do you know, Sir Roderick, I rather doubt if 
Eugene would have drowned himself ? ” 

“ I don’t know ; he has very good manners.” 

They both laughed. 

“But all the same, I am unhappy about Mr. 
Stafford.” 

“ Ah, your notions of other people’s morality are 
too exalted. I don’t accept responsibility for Staf- 
ford. He would not have followed my suggestion 
unless the idea had been in germ in his own mind.” 

Claudia’s preoccupation with Stafford’s fate 
would have been somewhat disturbing to a lover 
less philosophical or less sympathetic than Eugene. 
As it was, he was pleased with her concern, and 
his sorrow for the trouble it occasioned her was 
mitigated by a conviction that its effect would not 
be permanent. In this idea he proved perfectly 
correct. As the weeks passed by and nothing was 
heard of the vanished man, his place in the lives of 
those who had been so intimately associated with 
him became filled with other interests, and from a 
living presence he dwindled to an occasional mem- 
ory. It was as if he had really died. His name 
was now and then mentioned with the sad affection 
we accord to those who have gone before us ; for 
the most part the thought of him was thrust out in 
the busy give-and-take of everyday life. Save for 
the absence of that bitter sense of hopelessness 
which the separation of death brings, Stafford 
might as well have passed on the road which, but 
for Ayre’s intervention, he had marked out for him- 
self. Claudia and Eugene were wrapped up in 
one another; their love for him, though not dead, 
was dormant, and his name was oftener upon the 
Ups of Ayre and Morewood than of those who 
182 


AN END AND A BEGINNING 


had been most closely united with him in the bonds 
of common experience. But Ayre and Morewood, 
besides entertaining a kindly memory of his per- 
sonal charm, found delight in studying him as a 
problem. They were keenly interested in the up- 
shot of his new start in life, and their blunter per- 
ceptions were deaf to the dissonance between the 
ideal he had set before himself and the alternative 
Ayre had suggested for his adoption. Perhaps 
they were right. If none but saints may do the 
work of the world, much of its most useful work 
must go undone. 

Haddington and Kate Bernard were married be- 
fore Christmas. Claudia deprecated such haste ; and 
Eugene willingly acquiesced in her wish to put off 
the date of their own union. He thought that being 
engaged to Claudia was a pleasant state of exist- 
ence, and why hasten to change it ? Besides, as he 
suggested, they were not people of fickle mind, 
like Kate and Haddington (for, of course, Claudia 
had told him of Haddington’s proposal to herself — 
it is believed ladies always do tell these incidents), 
and could afford to wait. Eugene went to the 
wedding. He was strongly opposed to such fool- 
ish things as standing quarrels, and Kate was en- 
tirely charming in the capacity of somebody else’s 
wife : it is a comparatively easy part to fill, and he 
had no fault to find with her conception of it. The 
magnificence of his wedding present smoothed his 
return to favour, and Kate had the good sense to 
accept the role he offered her, and allowed it to be 
supposed that she had been the faithless, he the 
forsaken, one; whereas in reality, as Ayre remarked, 
she had herself doubled the parts. Claudia judi- 
ciously avoided the question of her presence at the 
183 


FATHER STAFFORD 


ceremony by a timely absence from London, and 
enjoyed only at second-hand the amusement Eu- 
gene derived from Haddington’s hesitation between 
triumph over his supposed rival, and doubt, which 
had in reality gained the better part. In spite of 
this doubt, it is allowable to hope for a very fair 
share of working happiness in the Haddington 
household. Kate was hardly a woman to make a 
man happy ; but, on the other hand, she would not 
prevent him being happy if his bent lay in that di- 
rection. And Haddington was too entirely con- 
tented with himself to be other than happy. 

Eugene’s wedding was fixed for the Easter re- 
cess, and among the party gathered for the occasion 
at Millstead were most of those who had been his 
guests in the previous summer. The Haddingtons 
were not there — Kate retorted Claudia’s evasion; 
and of course Stafford’s figure was missing; but 
the Territon brothers were there, and More wood 
and Ayre, the former bringing with him the com- 
pleted picture, which was Rickmansworth’s present 
to his sister. The party was to be enlarged the 
day before the wedding by a large company of re- 
lations of both their houses. 

The evening before this invasion was expected, 
Eugene came down to dinner looking rather per- 
turbed. He was a little silent during the meal, 
and when the ladies withdrew, he turned at once 
to Ayre : 

“ I have heard from Stafford.” 

“ Ah ! what does he say ? ” 

“ He has joined the Church of Rome.” 

“ I thought he would.” 

Morewood grunted angrily. 

“ Did you tell him to ? ” he asked Ayre. 

184 


AN END AND A BEGINNING 


“No; I think I referred to it.” 

“ Do you suppose he’s honest ? ” Morewood 
went on. 

“ Why not ? ” asked Eugene. “ I could never 
make out why he didn’t go before. What do you 
say. Ay re ? ” 

Sir Roderick was a little troubled. This exact 
following of, or anyhow coincidence with, his ad- 
vice seemed to cast a responsibility upon him. 

“ Oh, I expect he’s honest enough ; and it’s a 
splendid field for him,” he answered, repeating the 
argument he had urged to Stafford himself. 

“ Ayre,” said Morewood aggressively, “you’ve 
driven that young man to perdition.” 

“ Bosh ! ” said Ayre. “ He’s not a sheep to be 
driven, and Rome isn’t perdition. I did no more 
than give his thoughts a turn.” 

“ I think I am glad,” said Eugene ; “ it is much 
better in some ways. But he must have gone 
through another struggle, poor fellow ! ” 

“ I doubt it,” said Ayre. 

“ Anyhow, it’s rather a score for those chaps,” 
remarked Rickmansworth. “ He’s a good fish to 
land.” 

“ Yes, it will make a bit of a sensation,” assented 
Ayre. “We’ll see what the Bishop says when he 
comes to turn Eugene off. By the way, is it public 
property ? ” 

“ It will be in the papers, I expect, to-morrow. 
I wonder what they’ll say ! ” 

“ Everything but the truth.” 

“ By Jove, I hope so. And we alone know the 
secret history ! ” 

“ Yes,” said Ayre; “ and you, Rick, will have to 
sit silent and hear the enemy triumph.” 

185 


FATHER STAFFORD 


Lord Rickmansworth did not think it worth 
while to repudiate the odium theologicum imputed 
to him. Probably he knew he was in reality above 
the suspicion of caring for such things. 

‘ 4 Shall you tell Claudia ? ” Ayre asked Eugene, 
as they went upstairs. 

“Yes; I shall show her his letter. I think I 
ought, don’t you? ” 

“ Perhaps ; will you show it me ? ” 

“ Yes; in fact he asks me to give you the news, 
as he is too occupied to write to you. The note is 
quite short, and, I think, studiously reserved.” 

He gave it to Ayre, who read it silently. It ran : 

Dear Eugene : 

A line to wish Lady Claudia and yourself all happiness and 
joy. Do not let your joy be shadowed by over kind thoughts 
of me. I am my own man again. You will see soon by the 
papers that I have taken the important step of being received 
into the Catholic Church. I need not trouble you with an ar- 
gument. I think I have done well, and hope to find there work 
for my hands to do. Pray give this news to Ayre, and with it 
my most warm and friendly remembrances. I would write but 
for my stress of work. He was a friend to me in my need. 
They are sending me to Rome for a time; after that I hope I 
shall come to England, and renew my friendships. Good-bye, old 
fellow, till then. I long for afjr dyavo(f)po^vrj kcu <rok dyavl? 
€7 reeaaiv. 

Yours always, 

C. S. 


“ That doesn’t tell one much, does it ? ” 

“No,” said Ayre; “ but we shall learn more if 
we watch him.” 

Claudia came up, and they gave her the note to 
read. 

She read it, asking to have the Greek translated 
to her. Then she said to Ayre ; 

186 


AN END AND A BEGINNING 


“ What does it mean ? ” 

“ Why do you ask me ? ” 

“ Because you are most likely to know.” 

“ Mind, I may be wrong ; 1 may do him injus- 
tice, but I think ” 

“Yes? ” she said impatiently. 

“ I think, Lady Claudia, you have spoilt a Saint 
and made a Cardinal ! ” 


THE END 


187 











« 





















0C1 3 1903 
























' 

















*. 









* 












































C°PV DEL. TO CAT. 


0c T f 3 1903 























